#love that the mark of tranquility is called a brand

[ramblinganthropologist]

Fictober 22  - 2 and 3 (Cold and Death)

Dragon Age Inquisition

Summary: Unsurprisingly, coming back from Tranquility isn’t easy. Trevy is finding that one out the hard way. It looks like the Chantry took more from her than she thought, and there are things she’ll probably never get back. But if she can’t go back... maybe she can go ahead.

Time to pick a specialization, Trevy. You better get a strong stomach and quick.

(Tw: mentions of tranquility, nothing extreme)

---

Some days, Trevy wished she had appreciated not being able to feel the cold. Oh well, hindsight was 20-20.

The mage shivered as she drew her cloak closer, trying to cover the few bits of vulnerable skin that peeked through her defenses. In Haven, it didn’t matter how well you covered, though – the wind would rip through even the staunchest defenses, chilling those caught outside right down to the bone as they made their way from post to post in the hopes of not freezing where they stood.

It was a miserable place, all things considered – but at least they were miserable together. Templars, mages, and everyone in between hated the cold just the same as the person next to them as they tried to avoid breaking an ankle on the ice on their way to the tavern after duty. Some might consider it the great equalizer – she didn’t. She couldn’t, not after what her former jailers had done to her.

Speaking of – the brand on her forehead throbbed underneath its thick layer of bandages. Trevy’s eyes watered and she slapped a gloved hand to the surface on instinct. That only made it hurt worse, and soon the tears were trickling down her face, bringing more with every second. A sob threatened to work its way through her throat, but she bit it down as she rushed along to where she had been heading.

Ever since she had been released from Tranquility, it hurt. It hurt a lot. Maybe that was to be her reminder of what they had done to her, something to keep her from getting complacent around the soggy forms of the Templars huddled around the fires for warmth. Even if her mind tried to forget, her body sure wouldn’t.

Neither would her new vulnerability to the cold.

“It took you long enough to get here, Trevelyan.” The woman waiting for her at the door to the practice building worn a stern look and the robes of a former teacher. She had probably seen countless mage apprentices late to lessons – what was one more? “Oh, Maker, were you crying again?”

Trevy sniffed as she used the sleeve of her robe to wipe her eyes before the tears froze. “Can’t help it… it started hurting again.”

No doubt if there had been mages in the room, they would’ve been looking away at this point. After all, no mage likes a reminder of what they so easily could have become if they had taken one wrong step during their time in the tower. She had been as much a worker as a stark reminder of the penalties that awaited circle mages if they so much as put a toe out of line. The Templar that had watched over the Ostwick Tranquil had once called them the great deterrents, though it had been lost of her then.

That Templar and her fellow Tranquil were also lost now – buried in the explosion that took out the tower, or among the countless dead from the war. It was only for the former mages that she gave quiet prayer to a god she would love to spit at – the rest got a curse from the depths of her marked soul.

But at any rate, it was because of her reactions and just how uncomfortable she made mages that her training was a strictly one-on-one affair. She hadn’t requested it of course – they had. Something about a former Tranquil with a staff made people nervous. It made her laugh, though not too hard. If they were worried, how did they think she felt about the whole thing? As far as she knew, she was the only one to come back from the other side and be able to tell the tale. Call her a test dummy, call her fated, whatever it was… it was weird.

And it hurt. Had she mentioned that yet?

“Well, when it calms down you can take up your staff. I asked around, and they said before you…” the woman couldn’t say it. No one in robes could – it stuck in their throats and refused to escape. In the end, she shook her head. “Anyway, an Ostwick mage said you used to be an ice mage. I want to see if you can still do it.”

Trevy hung up her cloak on the wall and made a grab for her staff. Well, it wasn’t her staff if she was being honest. Instead, it was just a stock tool that they gave to apprentices before they figured out their specializations. She had enchanted plenty of them during her time under the brand, to the point she knew every angle of the smooth wood under her hand as she rolled it. Nothing special about it, but it let the caster figure out what they could do.

It was time for her to go from crafter to caster… no pressure.

Her teacher cleared to the side of the room, giving her space. Trevy was now all alone in the center, holding her borrowed staff and praying for a miracle. Logically, she knew the steps to summon ice. Back before the brand, she had almost been a primal prodigy, summoning ice since she was in the single digits. It had been one of the first spells she had ever figured out as a child, practically part of her muscle memory.

It should have been easy, effortless. However, sweat trickled down her brow as she faced the practice target. Her fingers rolled down the staff as she took a deep breath, closing her eyes to search for the path to her mana supplies.

Back in the day, it had been a path of glittering ice, rock hard and shining in an unseen light. As she walked along it, it had tinkled under her feet and summoned snowflakes with every step. Then there was the heart – a giant crystal of pure ice, so thick none could break it.

Yet… nothing was there but darkness. The ground was rocky and dark, with deep score marks that she could have fallen into. The light was gone, there was no snow to greet her, and her feet cracked along the ground.

And at the heart? Nothing but a gaping hole where her crystal had once been, scarred with the brand of the sun.

Her eyes snapped open and she dropped the staff. Sweat was pouring down her forehead as she backed away, breaking into a run. She barely remembered to grab for her cloak, haphazardly pulling it on as the teacher called for her to get back there. However, Trevy ignored it as she ran out of the building and down the road that would take her away from Haven.

Her feet took her to the nearby woods, where most people wouldn’t have gone during the cold weather. She eventually collapsed on a tree stump, tears streaming down her face. No matter how she tried to forget, the sight of the barren, scorched earth marked by the sign of the chantry would never leave her.

There was no use trying ice magic ever again. It had been burnt away by the brand in a desire to keep her in line.

Trevy’s tears trickled into the snow as she sobbed, body shaking. Before that moment, she’d had some hope that perhaps her magic would return to her with time and practice. It had been a small one, beaten down by logic and reality slapping her in the face, but it had been something she had held on tightly to in the nights where the brand pulsed and she felt fire in her veins.

Yet, she could no longer deny it as she sat there in that frozen forest. She could train and try for a thousand years and the ice would never return. The Chantry had gotten her in the end, just like they had hoped. Even free from Tranquility, she would never escape what they had done to her. Much like the burn on her forehead, her very being was forever scarred.

Was it even worth going on?

It was a thought that kept stabbing at her on the bad days as of late, especially during the nights she couldn’t sleep. But that was at night, in the dark when her eyes burned and her forehead throbbed. This was the daytime – she should have been ok.

But she wasn’t.

“I hate this.” She choked back a sob, rubbing her frozen sleeve against her soggy face. “Should’ve just stayed behind to die.”

It was certainly looking more attractive as she sat there, a soggy mess on that icy stump in a dead forest. At least then, she wouldn’t have known the pain that came with the broken brand and the frustration that came with it. She wouldn’t know what the disgusted looks of the mages would be like as she passed, trying to keep herself calm.

Maybe it would have been better…

But Trevy knew she couldn’t. Instead, she wiped off her face and did her best to calm her breathing. As she came back to her senses, the cold returned full force and stung her exposed skin. The pain was a great reminder – she stood.

“I’m… going to have to apologize for that I guess.” She sighed, shoulders sagging. There was a lot of that lately too. “Better head back…”

With uneasy steps, Trevy started to leave the woods. The ice and snow crackled under her feet as she picked her way through the barely walked path. It was unpleasant, and she winced at the sound. This was the kind of ice she had never liked – it was too brittle. So she shifted and climbed off into the ankle deep snow instead.

It was thanks to that she saw it.

“Is that a skull?” Trevy cocked her eyebrow as she squinted. Off in the distance, a break in the canopy was allowing gray light to filter through the branches and illuminate a patch of ground. There was something there, white and hard. Curiosity got the better of her, and she stumbled over towards it.

Just like she thought, it had been the skull of some creature left there by predators that had picked its skeleton clean. Most of the bones were there as far as she could tell, though she had no idea how to count them. Skeletons had never been her interest – she had sought out the ice after all.

But… the way the light caught the dark holes of the eye sockets drew her towards it. She had to wonder what it had been in life as she knelt down. It was too small for a bear or a wild cat, but even she knew enough to see it wasn’t something like a rabbit. The teeth looked sharp, but plenty of things had sharp teeth…

Her hand hesitated inches from the skull. Trevy blinked as she realized she had left the path altogether and was standing in deep snow, shivering. Even she knew this was stupid. If she’d had any sense in her head, she would head back to Haven proper.

But her sense had abandoned her as she stared down as the pile of bones. Something was drawing her there.

“Maker, I hope you’re not a demon.” Those were the last words she spoke as her fingers brushed against the bones. Immediately, it was like a live wire had run through her arm, making her vision go white. A soundless bell rung through her head as the air was knocked from her lungs, and she could see nothing.

Nothing but a path in front of her.

This wasn’t the path back to Haven – that was normal stone and rock. Here, the flagstones were shoulder blades and other flat bones, the rows marked with the long ones she didn’t know the names for. Everything was done in shades of white, black, and a cool purple that reminded her of night. There was no sound but crows as she walked along, bones tinkling under her feet.

The path took her to a dark purple crystal, filled with a pulsing energy. In front of it stood a skeleton, reassembled with its missing parts filled in with violet energy. Two globes of purple light stared out at her from empty eye sockets, and what had once been a bushy tail waved as she approached.

“What…” Words failed her as she felt herself drawn to the crystal. “Is… all of this is necromancy, isn’t it?”

She knew the field from listening to her cousin – hopefully alive somewhere – going on and on about his lessons when they had been younger. He had described his own source of magic as a sort of graveyard filled with animated skeletons. If this was to be her center, it was far more austere, almost somber.

Then again… he had developed his magic. She was just beginning.

The skeletal creature approached her, stopping at her feet. Those glowing eyes focused on her, and she swore it was sizing her up. Trevy wasn’t really sure what it wanted from her, but she couldn’t look away.

“I don’t know anything about necromancy, you know…” she knelt down, hand reaching out. “I was Tranquil… you’d have better results from someone else.”

Her vision didn’t waver. Apparently, it had made its decision on the matter. The only thing left was for her to agree to the terms. Had this been days, even hours prior, she would have hesitated. Yet even as she sat there, she remembered where the ice had once been, and the burning brand that remained.

It might have been a strange sight… but it was free from the brand. It was hers, to do with as she wanted. All she had to do was accept it.

Her hand found the top of the skull, where the ears had once been. “Be patient with me, I’ve got a lot to learn.”

As soon as her fingers brushed the bone, the violet light exploded around her with a rush of wind and the crunching of skeletons. When the light cleared, she was back in the clearing, freezing cold as snow began to fall all around her.

The creature stood assembled in front of her – she was pretty sure it had been a fox when it was alive.

A strange smile crossed her face as she stood. “I guess you should follow me back… hope you don’t mind being my training dummy, I don’t exactly know where necromancers get their bone supplies from.”

Together, Trevy and the skeleton started their walk back. No doubt there would be a thousand questions that led to even more when she returned, a reanimated corpse following at her heels. She had no idea how to answer any of them, but she was happy to try.

It was cold, no doubt about it… but she was slowly growing used to it. She doubted she would ever be truly comfortable with the ice and snow, but there was nothing unique about that. The memory, that she would never forget… but she was slowly starting to accept that some things would never return.

Life didn’t go backwards after all. Yet, she was beginning to see that if she couldn’t go back to who she had once been, to her old power, perhaps she could seek what lay ahead. Maybe her new friend would help.

Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to learn to like robbing graves and picking up carrion, though. Her stomach wasn’t the strongest. Maybe that was why she had never really looked into necromancy…

#writober22 #Aeronwen Trevelyan #inquisitor trevelyan

[prince-everhard]

No 14. IS SOMETHING BURNING? Branding | Heat Exhaustion | Fire

Title: Consequences Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): Female Surana Rating: T Warning(s): none Wordcount: 368 Summary: Surana helps her best friend escape the Circle, and the consequences are more than she bargained for.

@whumptober2020​

Surana paces the length of her cell. Back and forth, back and forth, until her feet are sore. Even though she was Harrowed… even though she’d proven that she was (small quiet obedient) safe… they were going to make her Tranquil. It was supposed to be unthinkable. Unlawful. She’d passed her test and proven herself; they had no right to do… that.

Her footsteps slowed, slowed, stopped, and she leaned against the rough brick of her cell. She was sure, even now, that Irving was arguing every case he could to protect her. Not that it would matter, in the end. Irving was still a mage, after all, and no matter how right he was the templars would think themselves moreso. 

“I could protect you from it,” a voice whispers in her ear. Surana whips around. There is, of course, no one there. Still, the voice continues. “Look at you, so full of fight and life. Such a shame for them to take that from you.”

Surana scowls. “Not like you’d leave any of me left either, once you were done,” she hisses back.

The voice chuckles. “Oh, you poor dear. Backed into the corner but still you fight.” Something like a wind caresses her cheek; Surana flinches back from it, scowl deepening. “I’d be more than happy to let you go… if only you’d do me a favor once I get you out of here.”

Surana doesn’t respond while a templar walks by on his rounds, but she can feel her own scowl wavering. Let the demon take her, and get justice against her jailers? Or refuse the demon, and let the templars take everything that made her a person away instead? It’s an awful choice against an awful choice. She’s dead either way, she realises, and it’s like a earthen fist to the gut. Her legs tremble, then give out, and she finds herself sitting on the edge of her cot. Years, literal years, of her life had been wasted trying to appear a non-threat to her jailers. Would it make any difference to fight back? Could she forgive herself for not trying?

Would she even be able to care about forgiveness, once she’d been branded?

#whumptober2020 #no. 14 #branding #dragon age #fic #prince fic #dao #love that the mark of tranquility is called a brand #so MUCH potential

[frenchrebelfries]

Fury’s Daughter

AN: Idk wth I just wrote... I just got this idea so yeah... Happy Reading!

.

You are the adoptive daughter of Nick Fury, when you were 5 he adopt you when your parents died on a plane crash that was cause by Hydra, your parents and Nick were good friends that’s why he took you in.

You were a smart kid, always analyzing things, Fury told everything to you and never lie. To protect your identity Nick made you a new one as you volunteer to be an agent of Hydra to gain information and was branded by the organization. You did dangerous mission and always getting out alive.

You were then sent back to and joined the Avengers initiative but the avengers were suspicious of you as you came out of nowhere, no files, no nothing but a name and Fury’s trust.

No one knew who you are to protect your identity in recon so the avengers treated you coldly but you didn’t care, you didn’t tell it to your father about the situation you are in because you were train to adapt and you did. You were kind to them and all as you and Natasha got closer… like really close. Out of all Natasha Romanoff is the one you have trusted the most.

.

.

You got out from the elevator after a short report you did to Nick about the information you got for the Winter Soldier when you heard the laughing of the team as they sat in the living room with pizza on the table as they talked and laugh at each other.

The laughter halted when they all noticed you and silence came… you knew you were never welcome her but your father trust them so you really had no choice but to put up with it, sensing their discomfort you just gave them a nod greeting them.

“Good evening Avengers” no one answered as you expected and left and went to your room, you heard a light foot steps following you and a hand holding your wrist and seeing a familiar red head you have fallen with for the past few weeks.

“Hey Y/N, I’m sorry about the boys you know how hard headed they are” she sincerely apologized to you as you gave her a soft smile

“it’s ok Natasha, I know they still don’t fully trust me and I understand why, so it’s cool” you replied to her as she looked at you suspiciously searching your face for any lies but you being good at hiding your emotion she immediately gave up when she didn’t find one.

“So… Movie night?” she asked cheekily at you as your brows furrows

“what about the others?” you asked her as she started pulling you towards her room as she shrugged

“they can take care of themselves, come on!”

.

.

One day when you were alone practicing in the gym at 6 am of the morning you accidentally took off your clothes leaving you in your sports bra forgetting that Steve Rogers is always awake at that time and saw your Hydra mark on your chest and thought of you as an enemy and told the team as they planned to eliminate you on the next mission.

To eliminate the Hydra scum.

.

.

“can I get a hand over here?” you heard Clint said in the coms as you took down the last guy from your floor inside a hydra base that you’ve been recon last week

“I’m coming on your way” you answered running to Clint’s direction knowing the base like the palm of your hands as you shot a Hydra soldier who was sneaking behind him

“Thanks” you nodded at him you continue your pursuit taking down agents as you skillfully glide yourself on the battle field.

The battle had stop when Clint finished the last guy as Steve and Natasha immerge from the control room with a case on hand.

They must have gotten the information

“Mission complete, how’s the perimeter Tony?” Captain said on the coms as you get close to Natasha scanning her for any injuries and sighted in relieve when you found none.

“Perimeter is clear as the sky Steve were ready to go home” you smiled at the thought of home… Fury promised you a dinner with Maria and Coulson when you get back since things have been busy these couple of week and you were really excited about it since it’s going to be your first dinner with them again since you got back from recon.

“time for phase 2 then, Romanoff” you frowned at Steve’s word

Phase 2? You never heard about it when at the briefing

You were still in confusion when Steve called Natasha and you felt a searing pain by your side

You wiped your head to your side seeing a knife… a knife you gifted to Natasha lunge by your side.

You looked at her eyes full of betrayal and so as Clint and Steve who was in there with you.

“Phase 2 complete, were leaving, now die you Hydra scum” Steve said voice full of spite hearing a ‘good job’ from Tony and a ‘let’s go’ from Clint as you fall down on your knees looking at their retreating figure leaving you.

The last one you saw was the red headed assassin taking one last look at you as they close the door as your whole body fall down on the cold ground.

You shakily grabbed your phone dialing your father’s number as he answered rather cheerful

“Y/N why are you calling me? Is your mission done?” you heard your dad’s voice making you tear up a bit

“D-dad…”

“get your ass here kid Maria and Coulson just arrived here and im about to finish cooking these turkey”

“c-can I have a rain check on the dinner dad… I kinda messed up…” your voice was now shaking and you are feeling colder than usual the blade may have a poison as you felt a burn and getting light headed faster than normal.

Fury must have sense that there is something wrong by the way your voice sounded

“Y/N what happened? Are you ok?” you can hear his voice full of worry as you heard Maria and Coulson from the background asking what’s wrong.

“I-I think I was the p-phase 2 of S-Steve’s plan dad… it’s really g-getting cold here ya know” blood tricked on the ground from your wound

Your vision darken as flashes of memories filled your eyes.

You can hear the shuffles from the other line saying they are tracking my call and will be sending medical help

“I’m s-scared d-dad… I still d-don’t wanna go” you cried,

“Help is on the way Y/N keep holding on I’m here for you kid” you can hear the shakiness of your father’s voice, you kept trying to keep your eyes open and now seeing dark spots forming.

“T-thanks for everything dad… tell Maria and Coulson I love them…” your voice was barely audible hearing their cried for you to wake up.

“Keep your eyes open for me kid… please”

“I-I think a need a nap… l-love you dad” and you were gone.

They kept calling for you but you never answered back.

.

.

Fury along with Maria and Coulson with a medical team arrived at the base eyes redden because of crying as they found you on the cold ground with your phone by your side and a stab.

Fury cradle you like a baby as the medic announced your death with Maria and Coulson crying by the side.

.

.

“Did you check the monitors?” Fury’s cold voice echoed in a quinjet as your cold body layed beside him with your head on his lap stroking the hair that is covering your face.

“you’re not gonna like it boss…” Maria said with blood shot eyes as she played the video of Steve ordering the Phase 2 and Natasha Romanoff stabbing you as they left you.

“call them up at SHIELD… they would pay for what they did to her” Nick ordered as Coulson took his phone out to call them.

Nick glanced at you as he swiped some blood by your mouth hugging your corpse closer to him.

.

.

.

They avenger’s arrived at SHIELD seeing Fury holding Y/N’s hand as she lay dead on the table with Maria and Coulson by the back holding back their anger.

“what is this Fury?” Steve stepped out in confusion to why they got the body of Y/N

“What is the phase 2 Captain” Nick’s voice was colder than usual

“… to eliminate the Hydra-“ Steve answered as the other’s stayed silent

“and who is the Hydra?”

 “Y/n…”

 Then there’s silence, the team were uncomfortable with the silence but Steve was getting impatient with all of it.

“Look I don’t know what is your point here but you should thank us for killing the mole here Fury”

Fury looked at them as Coulson held Maria who was about to attack Steve as Fury spoke…

   “I see no dead mole here Rogers… all I see is my dead daughter”

  The team’s eyes widen as they froze from there spot

“W-what?” Bruce asked

“Y/N Fury... is my daughter who you called a Hydra scum”

“B-but she had the brand-“

“She had the brand because she was undercover inside Hydra that gave her the mark to extract information for your missions that is saving billions!” Fury angrily shouted making them all flinch.

All of it dawned to them as Natasha fall into her knees realizing she killed a hero… she killed her friend who trusted her… she killed the person who loved her…

“I pulled her out of the recon to keep her safe knowing her all her covers were blown, I put her into your team so she can be protected thinking after all those years of being away we can have a normal dinner like she wanted for years, I trusted my daughter in your hand yet you are the one who killed her…”

Fury stood up tears streaming down on his face

“Avenger Initiative’s termination is effective immediately, all of you would be put in maximum security prison for killing Y/N Fury” Agents entered taking their weapons and cuffing them

 “Nick… I’m sorry” Steve’s voice filled with regret rang out as Fury looked at him coldly throwing a file on the ground in front of him as the content spilled revealing pictures of the Winter Soldier.

 “Y/N wanted to give you this information from the last recon she was put in to, James “Bucky” Barnes is alive and now known as the Winter Soldier who is working for Hydra and has killed thousands”

Steve’s face was full of shock knowing his best friend Bucky is alive…

“Nick-“

“I’m sorry to cap…” Fury cut him off and coldly apologies to Steve who is now confuse to why as everyone in the room looked at them in silence.

 “you took someone dear away from me… and now I’m taking yours, Good Bye Avengers and thank you for your service” before Steve and others could react they were all tranquilized knocking them out cold and only waking up in a glass cell with Ross smirking at them as they sat there in silence thinking the things that they have done for you.

“welcome to your new life Avengers…in prison!” and a loud laugh erupted from Ross as he walked out as ex-heroes gazes followed his exit.

#nick fury #avenger #natasha romanoff x re #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff angst #steve rogers #tony stark #bruce banner #clint barton #maria hill #phil coulson #nick fury dad #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #angst #avengers angst #reader

[hongism]

9:42 pm - s. mingi

↣ pairing: mingi x gn!reader ↣ genre: fluff ↣ wc: 1.0k ↣ for anonymous: situation 8 + sentence 4 with mingi please and thank you <3 ↣ warnings: none

the bag hanging from your shoulder is beginning to press a bit too deeply into your skin, leaving an angry red mark in your flesh even through the protection of your shirt. working for six hours without end on a hellish shift at the same restaurant you’ve been at for three years.

three years of the same brand of hell all for some minimum wage pay that keeps you alive and going just fine. normally, you at least get a break through your shift, some time off your feet and not moving around without rest, but today was a different case. your coworker called out sick at the last minute, your manager couldn’t get anyone to cover her shift, and you were abandoned to work the floor on your own for the whole of those six long hours. your feet hurt something awful thanks to all that rushing around and the walk home to your apartment, but honestly that all takes a backseat to what you know is waiting for you there.

home.

aka the dingy and small apartment with windows that are in desperate need of a deep clean. decently sized, enough to house two people and a fat orange cat comfortably at least, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“hey, i’m home,” you say as you push into your home.

“hi angel.”

you have to crane your neck just a hair to greet the person waiting inside, a smile already on your lips before your gaze even settles on mingi’s face, but that’s perfectly fine. just hearing his voice is more than enough for you.

“how was work?”

“busy. long. painful. think i’m gonna need to ice my feet for two weeks to recover,” you huff, stepping out of your sneakers and leaving them beside the door as you close it behind you. mingi gives a cute and crooked smile. he takes the bag off your shoulders without a word, and the sudden lift of pressure on your body draws a relieved sigh from your lips. you rub blindly at the spot where the strap was cruelly digging into your skin.

“say the word and it’s yours, y/n,” mingi says after placing your bag on the simple set of hooks he put up not too long ago. a little side project he thought would be good for both of you. and carl, of course, because one of his favorite cat toys hangs down from one of the hooks for the cat to play with when mingi isn’t entertaining him.

“a cup of coffee would be nice.” it’s late, probably too late for coffee of all things, but you pride yourself on the ability to not get strung out on caffeine even if you have it late in the day. if anything, it’ll just make you more drowsy and you’ll be curled up in bed with mingi within an hour.

“i’ll make you some while you change?” mingi offers. he’s already midway to the kitchen, drifting away from you with the same calm smile from before. you often joke about how much of a domestic housewife he is, especially when he does things like this for you, but on days like these? where you don’t know if you can take even a few more steps to the bedroom? you welcome every compassionate gesture and offer for help. that’s what is on your mind as you make your way to the bedroom; mingi’s endless compassion and genuine interest in helping you after long days like these. it’s something that eats away at the edge of your thoughts still — are you being too much, is he sure he wants to help, do you do enough in return, does he wish you did more for him, all those unending questions that you find yourself asking on bad days.

you give a shaky exhale to the room before you, catching movement in the corner of your vision as carl comes to greet you too.

“he’s too good for this world, carl.”

“talking to the cat again?”

“hm?” you startle a little at the sound of mingi’s sudden intrusion, midway through stripping your shirt off when he appears in the doorway. “you don’t fool me, min, i overhear you talking to carl every morning.”

“hey, i ask if he’s hungry! that’s different than gossiping about me to our cat.” mingi pushes his lip out and pouts a little. that damn pout gets you every time. “coffee’s on the counter.”

“thank you, baby.” you step a bit closer to him, taking his hand between your palms and tracing over his soft cheeks with a gentle smile painting your lips. you thumb over his pout without saying anything for a couple seconds. it’s a moment of peace and tranquility for the both of you. time to just stand and admire each other, speaking a silent language between each other and drinking in the intoxicating presence of the other’s form. “cute,” you exhale at last.

mingi twists enough to kiss the side of your hand, then reaches up to tangle his fingers through yours.

“wanna take a bath together after your coffee?”

“don’t threaten me with a good time,” you laugh under your breath. “i’ll drink my coffee in the bath. let me go get it going. you’ve done more than enough for me already, baby.”

“you know i always wanna do more, angel. but i’ll go talk to carl behind your back while you’re doing that!” mingi pulls back and points a long finger at your face, though his tone is hardly serious in the slightest and you can’t help but to smile at his words.

“i love you,” you singsong over your shoulder as you head off to the bathroom.

“i love you too, angel. and carl. even if you two talk about me behind my back.”

#atzinc #kwritersworldnet #kdiarynet #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez timestamp #ateez drabbles #ateez scenario #ateez imagine #ateez drabble #ateez imagines #mingi x reader #mingi fluff #mingi timestamp #mingi drabble #mingi scenario #mingi imagines #mingi imagine #caly.writes #requests

[poisonedapples]

Roman Gets Help 1/5: Bad Nights

Part One: Virgil

Part Summary: Roman is always trying to make his anxiety more manageable with a bunch of different tactics. But a disorder is a disorder, and some days are worse than others. But at least his best friend Virgil is around to help.

Part of the Service Dog AU!

Pairings: Platonic Prinxiety

Warnings: Past panic attacks, medication, anxiety, Remus making poop jokes because he’s Remus, swearing and food mentions

Word Count: 2,751

Taglist: @hold-our-destiny @pricklyfish777 @romansleftshoulderpad

Notes: Cornybird on Ao3 deserves Many Squishmallows for editing so much of my stuff, including this. So send visual squishmallow vibes to her, she deserves it

Virgil really should have known something was weird when Roman didn’t text back.

The two had made plans during lunch to meet up at Roman’s house so he could help with Virgil’s Spanish homework. Roman was infinitely better with language stuff than Virgil could ever dream to be, and even when the work was done, it was always nice to hang out in his room and get away from his wild parents every once in a while. But since Roman left school early and Virgil had to stay after for band practice, he hadn’t heard or seen Roman in a while.

That in itself wasn’t weird, though. What was weird was that when Virgil texted him that he was on his way, Roman didn’t respond. Not even with an emoji reaction or a simple ‘okay’. But even then, what was even weirder was that Virgil was right outside his door, texting Roman to open it for him, and he still wasn’t responding.

Virgil checked the last three messages he sent to Roman’s phone. All of them were marked as delivered but not read, which was also very concerning. What could Roman be doing that he hadn’t checked his phone in thirty minutes? Virgil got anxious when he didn’t read messages immediately, let alone waiting half an hour.

Virgil sent him one last text before putting his phone away. You there? I’m outside.

No response. Virgil knocked on the door and shoved his hands in his pockets, waiting and shifting on his feet for someone to open the door. After a couple minutes, he started to think Roman had just forgotten.

However, a slight spark of hope rose up in him at the sound of the front door opening. But when Virgil looked up from his shoes to the person at the door, he felt his shoulders sag.

It wasn’t Roman who had opened the door. There was no shy and apologetic smile with Princess right under his feet. Instead, it was his bastard brother in ripped jeans and a green tank top, blowing bubblegum like a bully in a 90s Nickelodeon show.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite emo! What brings you here, Raven Way?” Remus asked, leaning on the door frame with a cocky smile.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “You’ve already used that one.”

“It’s my favorite nickname for you. It’s the perfect brand of insulting. It has spice to it.”

“I’m glad you’re entertained then. Is Roman out somewhere?”

Remus cocked an eyebrow. “No, he’s been up in his room. Last I checked he was as passed out as a corpse.”

“Okay...can I come in then?”

Remus smiled and opened the door for Virgil, taking a bow as he stepped inside. Virgil rolled his eyes again. This guy is so fucking weird. “You know where his room and the shitter is. Just follow the trail of dog hair to his royal highness.”

“You terrify me, Remus.”

“Good! That’s the aesthetic I’m going for. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a bigass thing of chili dip in the fridge that may or may not be expired. We’ll see!” Virgil’s eyes narrowed as Remus skipped back to the kitchen and right to the fridge, but he really didn’t want to be around for that mess. Instead, Virgil went upstairs and turned left to Roman’s room, the colorful Disney decorations covering his door. Virgil knocked twice, but when met with no answer, he came inside anyway.

The first thing Virgil noticed was the lights. The windows and blinds were shut tight so no sunlight could get through while Roman’s fairy lights around his room were turned on. The soft twinkling gave the room a feeling of calmness, but the sight on the bed was more concerning than tranquil. Princess was sat down on top of the bed comforter with two arms wrapped around her, Roman blending in with the sheets he was under as he shoved his face in his dog’s fur. At least she didn’t seem to mind.

Roman looked up at the sound of the door opening. Virgil felt his heart sink when he saw the tear streaks down his face and his messed up hair, but Roman tried his best to respond to Virgil anyway. “Hey…”

Virgil took off his shoes and threw his backpack onto the floor next to the door. “Hey, dude. You look like shit.”

Roman made a strange huff sound, probably meant to be a laugh. “Thanks.”

He buried his face back into Princess’ fur, and Virgil felt that pang of worry grow stronger. He moved to the other side of the bed, sitting alongside Roman and his pile of blankets and pillows. “You okay?”

Roman shrugged. “I’m doing better.”

“What happened?”

“Panic attack.”

Virgil sucked the air through his teeth as a way to say yikes. “Seems like it was a pretty bad one.”

Princess rolled over onto Roman’s chest, and Roman cuddled even closer than what Virgil thought was possible. He looked so small when he did that. “Worse than usual.”

“Do you know what caused it?”

“No. Sometimes it just happens.” Roman kissed the top of Princess’ head. “Anxiety just...does that.”

“Yeah, I get it. Trust me, out of everyone you know, I’d probably be the one to understand it the most.”

“...Yeah.”

An awkward silence fell between the two of them. Virgil didn’t actually know what to do when Roman was like this. He’s stopped him from having panic attacks in the past, but he’d never seen him look this bad. Roman was curled in on himself under the covers, gripping onto Princess for dear life in an attempt to soothe himself. His pile of stuffed animals usually spread around the bed were now in a giant pile around his body, and his weighted blanket poked out from under the comforter too. It looked like he was trying his hardest to get comfortable, and Virgil didn’t know what else he could do. A distraction? A nap?

Well, only one way to find out.

Virgil took a deep breath in. “...Is there any way I can help?”

Roman shrugged again. “Not that I know.”

“Did you take a nap? That usually helps me the most.”

“I just woke up. My meds knocked me out.”

“Your meds?”

Roman took a pill bottle from his nightstand and showed it to Virgil. He read the confusing label that all medicine bottles have, but the name of the pills was long and unfamiliar in Virgil’s mind. Roman placed them back once Virgil got a good look and curled in on himself more. “Panic attack meds. They help you calm down really quick when you’re having an attack. They always put me to sleep after. Remus likes to call them my tranquilizer dart.”

Virgil snorted. “I mean...accurate name. I’ve just never seen you with those before.”

“I only take them on bad days. My therapist warned me about how I shouldn’t take them after every panic attack, because then I’ll never learn how to deal with them on my own, and I might get addicted. Which I’d rather not.”

“Yeah, I know about the addiction thing. I used to be on anti-anxiety until last year.”

Roman tilted his head up to look at Virgil for the first time. “Really?”

“Yup. I got eased off them after a while, though. Now I just take an antidepressant, which honestly isn’t much. I think everyone in our friend group is on some kind of meds.”

“...Patton?” Roman asked.

“Patton’s one depressed mother fucker. I say that out of love, but yes, he’s also on antidepressants.”

“And Logan?”

“...Dude. Epilepsy.”

Roman let out a silent oh. “...I forgot you take meds for that.”

“Our brains are fucked up and we accept this.”

Roman flashed a small smile but didn’t respond. After that, the two had fell silent as Virgil awkwardly patted a beat on his leg to put his nervous fidgeting to use.

What do you do for someone getting out of a panic attack? It was obvious Roman wasn’t in a talking mood, but it was killing him inside to just...sit there while he looked so helpless. But he’d never had to deal with this with a friend before. The worst he’d dealt with were Patton’s bad depression days, and those had nothing on how horrible Roman looked right now. And if he already took a nap...what else were you supposed to do after a panic attack?

Virgil thought back to his own experiences. Of course, Virgil’s anxiety was nothing compared to Roman’s, but it was better than nothing. And comfort worked no matter how bad you felt, even if it was only a little.

He thought back to his own parents. How his mom would hold him and let him cry into his shoulder if he needed to, but that was too awkward for him to do with Roman. His dad would let him curl up and watch him play games on the console, which could maybe work…

...Then Virgil remembered another thing his mom did once after one of his worst panic attacks. It might be a bit embarrassing because of intimacy, but it would help Roman feel better. And that’s all that matters.

“I’m gonna go get some stuff, okay?” Virgil said, “You stay right here.”

Roman hummed. “Wasn’t planning on going anywhere, but okay.”

With that, Virgil hopped out of Roman’s bed and left the bedroom.

First, he needed a water bottle. Roman probably had some water when he took his meds, but it likely wasn’t enough to stop a headache after all the crying. Virgil went downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. While he was there, he looked through the rest of the fridge and noticed that there was no container of chili dip in there anymore. Gross.

Expired chili dip aside, he would need a face rag as well. Virgil went through a hallway on the first floor to the older bathroom downstairs, looking through the drawers for a decent cloth. A small one was hidden in the back of the drawer with some bottles of face wash and lotion, so Virgil grabbed that and took a mental note to put it back later. He stood in front of the faucet and stared at it for a while.

Was cold or hot water better for getting tears off someone’s face? Warm water seemed like it’d be more comfortable, but cold water could also be more refreshing. He thought about the possibilities for a while and settled on warm based on his own preferences, turning the hot and cold handles to where the water was only slightly warm, wetting a side of the cloth then turning the faucet off.

Before he left the bathroom, Virgil grabbed a couple squares of toilet paper and then headed out the door. He was back in Roman’s room not even five minutes later, setting his stuff on the nightstand for a second as he grabbed his DS from his bag and turned it on. Roman glanced up from the bed with a confused look, but didn’t say anything. Virgil came back next to the bed and motioned for Roman to move to the middle. Reluctantly, and with some shifting of Princess still at his side, Roman did so.

Virgil sat in Roman’s old spot and grabbed the wad of toilet paper. “Here, sit up and blow your nose. The last thing you need right now is more breathing problems.”

Roman grunted as she shimmied out from under his weighted blanket to sit up against the headboard of his bed. He took the toilet paper from Virgil and blew. “...Thanks.”

“No problem. Now just stick with me for this next part, because I’m not good with touchy-touchy shit, so this’ll be a little awkward.”

Roman gave Virgil a confused look, but he didn’t say anything. He grabbed the damp cloth and silently tilted Roman’s head to face him. Virgil tentatively lifted the cloth to his face and wiped the tears from under his eyes, the gesture mixed with the warm water making Roman hum in content. Virgil didn’t acknowledge what was happening, he just wiped off his friend’s face, flipping to the dry part of the cloth to dry him off after.

“There. That should help you feel less gross, anyway.”

“Thanks...it helped.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” Virgil set the cloth to the side and handed Roman the water bottle. “And drink this, it’ll help with that nasty headache you probably have.”

Roman twisted the cap open and chugged the bottle, finishing half of it in record speed before putting it down again. Virgil could tell by how fast he chugged it that his head was probably throbbing.

“Feeling a little better now?” Roman nodded. “Wanna watch me play Harvest Moon until you probably pass out again?”

He nodded again, Virgil scooting closer to him so Roman could place his head on his shoulder as he watched. His hand combed through Princess’ fur as Princess trapped the other under her paw to lick. Most people would think it was gross, but considering licking was one of her grounding techniques, he was desensitized to it by now. “Which one do you have?”

“A New Beginning. I’ll show you all my cows because they’re bomb as fuck. My first cow is named Oven and I have a baby one named Chaos.”

Roman laughed as Virgil started up the game. “Awesome. You play it often?”

“Eh, sometimes. It’s not my favorite game, but I carry it with me because it’s good for calming anxiety down. All I gotta do is feed my animals and mine and shit. Nothing else matters, you know?”

Roman nodded as best he could from Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil loaded up his save file and started to show Roman around his farm, mostly skipping the crops and going straight to the pets and farm animals with the most ridiculous names Virgil could get away with using only six letters. Virgil chatted away about his game and read all the speech bubbles out loud, showing off his wife who he swears he married platonically since his character was obviously gay and talking about his rivalry with the hair stylist. Roman wasn’t responding much, just a few hums and little laughs here and there, but Virgil didn’t mind. So long as his friend was feeling better, that was all that mattered.

A while later, Virgil was baking desserts for a contest being held in town when he spoke up again. “I’m shit at cooking good stuff in this game, but I can make some neat pancakes, apparently. I’m gonna make this contest my bitch.”

There was no response. That wasn’t very strange in itself, but usually when Virgil sweared, Roman at least made a small huff of a laugh from his shoulder. But this time, he was completely quiet. Virgil looked over at his shoulder when he almost awwww’ed out loud.

Roman had fallen back asleep, his mouth open slightly with his arms cuddling Princess extra close as she seemed to relax alongside him. He was adorable, and in a moment of softness that Virgil would deny to the end of his days, he helped Roman to lay back in bed and brushed the hair out of his face. Roman still clung slightly to him even as he slept, so Virgil accepted his fate and moved to curl up alongside him, continuing his game with a smile on his face.

“Your sleep schedule is gonna be absolutely fucked, dude.” Virgil said. There was no response, obviously, and Virgil didn’t talk to his sleeping friend after that. He just took a mental note to tell his parents he was staying the night before it got too late and kept caring for his farm.

Maybe later he’d wake Roman up and get him some dinner, letting him recharge and take a shower before they actually had to go to bed. He’d be too awake to actually sleep at first, but the company of his friend and the comfort of his dog would keep him calm through that, even when Roman hated being awake past eleven. Patton may even find out and tease Virgil about having a heart after all, which Virgil would deny until the end of his days. But his edgy reputation wasn’t what mattered right now.

Instead, Virgil smiled and cuddled closer as Roman slept peacefully.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #service dog au #ts roman #ts virgil #prinxiety #platonic prinxiety #food mention #panic attack mention #ts remus #remus sanders #medication mention

[pikapeppa]

Felassan/f!Lavellan: The Love That Grows From Violence

I am pleased and terrified to introduce a new longfic featuring a romance between ex-Inquisitor Tamaris Lavellan and Felassan, i.e. the Bark-Eating Boyfriend™. 

The premise here is this: it is canon that people who are killed in the Fade become Tranquil. So what if Solas did not succeed at killing Felassan at the end of The Masked Empire? What if Felassan is Tranquil instead?

The first two chapters are here on AO3. With no further ado, here is the first.

*********************

Somewhere in the Hunterhorn Mountains, nine months after the Exalted Council…

Cassandra inspected the set-up of the room with a critical eye. Everything seemed to be in order.

Rhys had set protective wards and lit a veilfire torch to facilitate the crossing of a spirit. The affable dark-haired mage was standing near the veilfire torch, ready to help broker the connection between the Tranquil and the spirit. When the newly-restored Tranquil’s emotions came flooding back, Rhys and Minaeve would be ready to comfort them, and a healer was on-call as well if sedation was needed. On the other side of the ward circle, Ser Evangeline was standing ready as well, in the dire – and as yet unneeded – case that her Templar abilities were required.

Everything was ready to reverse the Rite of Tranquility. Satisfied, Cassandra turned and gestured to Minaeve, who was standing outside the door with the Tranquil by her side. “Come in,” she called.

Minaeve smiled up at her Tranquil companion, then led him into the room with one hand on his elbow. Cassandra nodded her thanks to Minaeve, then turned to face the Tranquil, whose gaze was lowered in a deferential manner. He was a tall elven man wearing a Fereldan commoner’s garb, but his face was mostly obscured by a fine hooded cloak that looked unmistakably Dalish. 

Cassandra frowned. That is strange, she thought. This was the first Dalish Tranquil she’d ever met. 

She glanced at Minaeve. “I did not realize that the Dalish made their mages Tranquil.”

Minaeve opened her mouth to reply, but the Tranquil replied in her stead. “I am not Dalish.” 

Cassandra looked at him in surprise. Despite his oversized hood, she could swear she saw Dalish tattoos on his cheeks. But then again, the elves at the Temple of Mythal had tattoos on their faces as well, and they were not Dalish.

“Remove your hood, please?” she asked.

Without lifting his eyes, the Tranquil pushed his hood back, and Cassandra’s confusion deepened. His long black hair was pulled back into a neat bun, revealing a forehead and cheekbones adorned with a branching pattern of ink that was distinctly elven. 

What truly perplexed her, however, was the lack of a lyrium brand on his forehead. 

Cassandra looked at Minaeve in alarm. “Are we certain he is Tranquil? There is no mark.”

Rhys frowned curiously and came to join them, but Minaeve nodded. “I’ve been around the Tranquil my whole life, Lady Pentaghast. He’s definitely one of them.”

“That is odd, though,” Rhys said. He peered at the Tranquil’s forehead, then leaned back and stroked his neat goatee. “No sunburst scar. That’s… I’ve never seen that before.” He glanced askance at Evangeline, who shook her head in confirmation. 

Cassandra frowned, then lifted her shoulders. “If you are certain that he is Tranquil, then I see no reason why we should not proceed.”

Rhys nodded. “We’re all here, aren’t we? The veilfire is burning. We might as well.”

Cassandra smiled faintly at his casual response, then turned back to the Tranquil and studied him curiously for another moment. She could see now why Varric had insisted on secrecy in their treatment of this Tranquil, and she was quite interested now in hearing the Tranquil’s tale — once he’d had time to recuperate after the cure, of course. At this point, all she knew was the limited information that Varric had been able to pass to her in his heavily coded notes: that their Tranquil guest had been found living in Carta hideout, of all the unusual places, and that his discovery was a matter of sheer luck born from an unexpected meeting between one of the former Inquisition’s spies and a contact of Bianca Davri’s.

On with it, then, Cassandra thought. With no further delay, she launched into the speech she had prepared for these occasions. “We would like to reverse the Rite of Tranquility that severed you from your magical abilities and your emotions,” she said. “This may mean that you will become dangerous and lose control of your magic. If that should happen, we may need to sedate you. If the danger is too great, our Templar colleague may need to strike you down. Do you understand these risks?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Do you agree to the reversal of Tranquility, despite these risks?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said again.

Cassandra nodded, then realized that she had forgotten something. She’d been so preoccupied with this elven Tranquil’s peculiarities that she’d forgotten to introduce herself.

“Forgive me,” she said. “I should have said before: I am Cassandra Pentaghast. What is your name?”

He finally lifted his eyes to her face, and Cassandra’s own eyes widened in surprise. The Tranquil’s irises were a bright and unusual violet hue.

“My name is Felassan,” he said. “In the old tongue, it means ‘slow arrow’.” He tilted his head. “I thought it was funny, once. I don’t know why.”

#felassan #felassan/lavellan #felassan x lavellan #the love that grows from violence #cassandra pentaghast #pikapeppa writes

[bangtan-yeonghon]

Oath | Final Chapter | Jungkook

Genre: Angst | Mafia!AU

Members: Jungkook | You/Reader | Yoongi | Taehyung | Namjoon | Hoseok | Jin | Jimin |

Summary: What if one day everything you ever wanted is taken away and your whole world comes crushing down? If you were to forget today, who would you be tomorrow?

| Previous Chapter | Chapter List | Next Chapter |

Word count: 15.3k

Eyes glued to an empty mug, muffled sound of outside voices dissipating through vacant rooms, cold stillness engulfing the surroundings. You had been standing there for hours, staring at the note Jungkook had left you, pondering whether to go back to Yoongi, like he had asked, or just run away God knows where. The latter sounded so promising, a brand-new start in place so far not even history could reach you. But was there such a thing in the mafia? Sure, some must have made it, but how many have died trying? If Yoongi would not have caught you leaving the country, then you would have become leverage under torture or, much simpler, a corpse at the hands of Black Tiger. You were cornered at this point, nowhere to run, even though anthems of rebellion ringed in your head. All the time being pushed from one side to the other, under orders, under lies, had left you craving freedom. And even though it was clear that Jungkook only wanted to protect you, it made you so angry that even he gave you orders now. You sighed. It was a riot in your head and it was tough to make a decision, or maybe the decision had already been made the moment you stepped foot outside. You just had to get through this alive with hope that whatever Jungkook had in mind was not just another failed attempt to escape.

That night, with you in his arms, Jungkook finally got the chance to properly rest. He had been on the edge ever since he had lost you, and it had left a mark on him. But now, for a brief moment, he had you in his protection and nobody on his tail, so he could relax. The next morning, during the early stages, when the city was at its most silent and still point, he wrote you a note and went out the door. He wanted so badly to just lay with you a few more moments, to caress your cheeks and brush away all of your worries with his lips, but he knew there was no time for that. Things were moving at an alarming pace. He scanned the area just to make sure Black Tiger had not sent another leech, and drove off. Not even half an hour later, his phone started ringing; it was his father.

"What do you want?"

"I do have to say, I am impressed. Your source is valid. My boys told me Yoongi was there when the trade went down."

"So now you trust me, as a leader."

"Not really. You have any idea where Namjoon is?”

A wave of fear ran down his spine, but he kept his composure. Black Tiger should under no circumstances find out what went down at Paradise Hotel, otherwise him and Y/N would be the first to take the bullet. He made sure to kill all the men that were with Namjoon that night, leaving no trail behind. Yoongi also made sure to get rid of the cars and any other trace that would lead curious minds to them.

“I have no idea.”

“You’re the last person that saw him, don’t you find it weird?”

“Listen, I almost shot him when I caught him following me. I would still do it, gladly, if I saw his face.”

“I still don’t trust you, kid. You better not let me down. I need you to do a favor for me. Jin had been bugging me, asking about Namjoon. Find out where the bastard is."

“Why don’t you just let Jin handle it, then? I have more important stuff to do."

“Jin is too sloppy, he’ll get himself killed before he finds anyone, and I still need a good doctor. I also promised his dad the boy will be under my protection. And you, boy, shouldn’t act so cocky, you might be the leader now, but my orders are still yours to follow. Never forget that!”

“You want me to bring Namjoon back to you?”

"I don't have any use for him anymore. At this point, I'm not even sure he is still alive, but I need to know his whereabouts."

"What for? Just to stop Jin?"

"You ask too many questions, kid. Just get me the location and maybe I will give you my full trust."

Just as the dial tone started ringing in his ear, Jungkook threw the phone on the shotgun seat and took an U turn. The new task put pressure on him and he was all tense, but in a calm manner, as if he had expected this to come.

Back at Yoongi's place, Hoseok was giving updates on Taehyung's status. He was now stable, but not yet out of coma. When was he to wake up was a question nobody but Tae had an answer to. The two were casually exchanging information, with such composure that it would have made even the most anxious person feel like everything is under control. The only thing that disrupted the tranquility of the scene was the ringing of a phone, Yoongi's. There were very few words exchanged, at least on his side, but that call brought the meeting to an abrupt end. As he led Hoseok out of his office, Yoongi thanked him for his support and help and asked him one more time to make sure Taehyung was going to make it out alive. They shook hands, and Hoseok gave him a reassuring look before he headed out.

You stared out the window of the car, wondering if you have made the right decision. It was still not too late to tell the driver to turn around and take you back, or take you straight to the airport. Your heart was pumping hard against your chest as you got closer to the destination. So many thoughts, so much fear and hate. Yet, deep down you knew there was no other choice. And you missed Jungkook, you missed him so much it was hard to breathe, but again, you knew he had no other choice either. It was just another series of bad timing and fate pulling you apart, yet another trial for your love. Amidst all that a car passing by caught your attention. More precisely, the driver.

"Hoseok..." a faint whisper escaped your lips as your eyes traced the car. "Turn around."

"What?" the driver asked, clearly confused.

"Follow that car, please, before you lose him."

"Ok..."

"Please don't lose him, please!"

"Miss, I don't think this is legal. I don't want to get into trouble...."

"You won't. I'll pay you double, just please, follow him."

Just the mere thought that he was headed to wherever they were keeping Taehyung was making your heart race at full speed. When the adrenaline level started to go down, it made way for doubt to creep in, which brushed away some of that initial excitement. What if that gut feeling was actually flawed and Jimin had been right all along...what if Tae was actually gone? What if Hoseok was just roaming around the city aimlessly, which had hardly been the case, but what if? So many questions to which you held no answer, only one car leading you to them.

Hoseok stopped in front of a modest two-storey motel, nothing that would give off the idea that on a bed behind those wooden doors, there lied an almost dead gang member in hiding, and that he was the one in charge with keeping him alive. Your eyes traced his movements. He got a bag out of the trunk, scanned the area with a quick glance, and made his way to one of the apartments. You paid the driver, double, as promised, and got out of the car just as he closed the door behind him. Your mind was spiraling with excitement, anxiety, doubt, curiosity, fear, and anger, a dangerous mixture. You were in a trance, feet moving across the pavement out of reflex, nobody left in charge. Your ears were almost ringing when you reached the door, hands shaking as you got ready to knock.

You gasped just as your knuckles were about to touch the wood. In an eternity, that had actually been closer to one second, you were at gunpoint. Your brain could not even process when the door flung open or where that gun came from. You stood there frozen in time and space.

“Y/N?!” Hoseok asked, visibly shocked and confused. He noticed your dazed state and quickly pulled you inside, making sure to check if nobody else was on his tail. He sighed and decocked the gun.

Your eyes filled with tears, turning everything into a blurry mess. You felt one ball of liquid fire hit your cheek and slide down as the picture became clear. On a bed just a few steps away, as if by a miracle, laid a man, a man that had haunted your dreams and wreaked havoc on your soul. He was not awake, nor did he look good, but he was very much alive, just like that deep voice inside your heart had said over and over again. He was there, Taehyung was there. You felt a pair of hands land on your shoulders and the image of Taehyung faded to black.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Hoseok inquired, this time harsher.

“I could ask the same thing,” you responded, voice so soft it was almost a whisper. “Why didn’t you tell me?” You started shaking again. Inside a storm was building up, catching more speed and power as it went from your stomach to your heart and brain.

“You didn’t have to know, not now, at least.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t have to know? I didn’t have to know?!? Me, out of all the people didn’t have to know?!? Fuck you!!!” you pushed him, full force. “Fuck you, and fuck Yoongi, and especially fuck Jimin! All I heard from you were lies, lies, lies, and for what? It was fun seeing me all confused and trusting you like a fool? It was fun to have me as your pet?” you pushed him again. “You were so bored you just decided to fuck up my life as a means of entertainment??”

“Calm down! This is precisely why you didn’t have to know. You are putting yourself and us in danger with your quick temper and reckless behavior.”

“Oh, is that so? Is that what I am doing? Then tell me, Hoseok, how would I have put you in danger, had I known Tae was still alive? Would I be here screaming my lungs out now? No! Would I have followed you all the way here? No! Would I have even tried to run away? Definitely no! I put my life on the line so many times for you, I have been tortured and stayed loyal to the family, and this bullshit is what I deserve?”

“It was what was best for you, for both of you. With Jungkook back in the picture, Taehyung would have only suffered and made stupid mistakes, just like you.”

“So thoughtful you are…” you stared at him in disbelief. “And lying to me, making me loathe myself, making me hate every moment I am breathing, thinking that it was his life that saved mine, and that I will never ever get a chance to make it up to him again, is that what is ‘best for me’? And Tae? Did you think he would like seeing me this way? Did you think keeping me away would make him wake up faster or what? I just needed to know he was alive, that’s it.”

“Are you really that sure that you would’ve been so calm and composed?”

“Yes!” Your eyes burned with anger.

“And you would’ve stayed by his side? Even if Jungkook wouldn’t have agreed with it?”

You had another answer on the way, but the words got stuck in your throat. Truth was that you would have never done anything to hurt any of them, you loved Jungkook, but also cared deeply about Taehyung. You would have stayed by his side only to make sure he was getting better, but in the end, you would have still left him for Jungkook. It hurt when you thought about it, but that was the truth.

“That’s what I thought,” Hoseok continued. “Now be a good girl and go back to Yoongi. He’s been looking for you.”

“No.” You had your eyes glued to the ground now and spoke in a very calm manner. “I am not leaving his side. I want to stay here for a while.”

“Y/N…”

“I won’t do anything, I won’t run, I promise. Just let me stay with him, please. I am useless to Yoongi right now, but I can be of use here. You can go help him, and I’ll take care of Tae. It’s a win-win.”

“He won’t be pleased to know you are here.”

“I can talk to him. This is all on me, you have nothing to do with it.”

“It’s not me I am concerned about.”

“Cut the crap, I don’t buy it. Been through a lot of your bullshit to make me second guess your intentions,” you said coldly as you walked past him towards Taehyung. You kneeled next to the bed and looked at him. He had an oxygen mask on and an IV bag next to him. In all this chaos, he looked so peaceful.

“I am honest.”

“Hard to believe. Tell me what he needs, what I need to do.”

With a smug grin tattooed on his face, Black Tiger sat back in his leather armchair, cigar in one hand and glass of bourbon in the other. Everything seemed to be aligning the way he wanted. He felt invincible. A movie played in his mind: him hovering over Yoongi with the same expression he was so boldly wearing, stepping down on him as if to illustrate the new hierarchy. He was so caught up in his daydream that he did not even hear the knock on his door, only footsteps getting closer behind him. He turned around only to see Jungkook with drops of blood all over his clothes, bruises and cuts on his face, and eyebrows furrowed as he threw a piece of paper on his desk.

“There’s your location,” Jungkook said and made his way back to the door.

The old man reached for the paper and smirked. “All of this in just one day…what an accomplishment.”

“Are you implying something?”

“Do I have to?”

“Your tone makes it seem so.”

“It just surprises me how loyal you have been to us, considering everything that has been in the past, oh, and let’s not forget that your girl is with them. What makes you suddenly so desperate, so motivated to follow my commands?”

“We made a deal. I stay loyal, you leave Y/N alone. You named me the new leader, I need to rise up to the expectation, is that not so?”

“I know that, but you see…there is this, how should I put it, this gut feeling that there’s an ulterior motive for this obedience of yours.”

“Trust me or not, just stick to the deal. Leave Y/N out of this.”

Little did Jungkook know that Black Tiger was only playing with his head. The man was so absorbed in his own glory that he couldn’t care less about the boy’s motives. He got what he wanted.

Jungkook was about to exit the room when Black Tiger spoke again.

“Your job’s not done, kid. Come here, I have something to give you.”

Upon hearing those words, Jungkook clenched his jaw. What else did he need from him now? He knew his father, once he had someone in his grasp, he would not let them go until he used them to the max. He unwillingly moved towards his father with an inquiring look. All he wanted was to take a shower and get some sleep, but apparently that was out of question.

“You gave me an address, I give you one too,” Black Tiger said as he stretched his arm towards Jungkook, holding a piece of paper between his index and middle finger. He took in a big pile of smoke from his cigar as he watched his son stare at it in a confused and slightly pissed off matter. “Yoongi’s next deal.”

“What do you want me to do with it?”

“I’ll send some boys; I want you to go with them.”

“Are you sure this deal stands?”

“One hundred percent. Got that man you brought in and some other guys to dig it up, I am certain Yoongi will be there. You’ve been one of them, you should know best his MO. If things look bad, I trust you will take my boys out before it all goes to shit, or else Y/N will be so very disappointed, I will personally make sure of it.”

Jungkook smashed his palms against the wooden desk, giving his father a death glare as he spoke. “You will not get to touch her ever again, you hear me? I will personally make sure of it. Got that?” He pushed back and walked out of his office.

“Go make your father proud, Jungkook. And don’t come back empty handed; bring me proof you killed that cocky piece of shit.”

Jungkook paused for a short moment, then shut the door behind him and walked down the hallway towards the main exit. Midway his eyes landed on Jin who was heading towards Black Tiger’s office. He saw curiosity and concern in his gaze.

“What the hell happened to you?” Jin asked, coming to a standstill as Jungkook passed him by.

“Nothing.”

Jin stood there for a second, watching him walk away, wondering what it was that made Jungkook so angry. He felt it in his voice, the rage within, yet he seemed so composed and focused. Something was going on for sure. He got carried away for a minute, trying to figure out what could Jungkook possibly be thinking. When he couldn’t find an answer, he proceeded on knocking on the door.

“Yes?” He heard Black Tiger say from the other side.

“Good evening, sir!”

“Ah, Jin! Come in!”

“You asked to see me?”

“Ah, yes. I wanted to talk to you about something. Come, sit, don’t just stand there, it’s making me uncomfortable.”

It was strange to see Black Tiger in such an euphoric state. Usually, his brows would be furrowed and his voice harsh, but now he seemed surprisingly relaxed. Jin took a seat on one of the armchairs placed in front of the desk as the leader of the organization fiddled with some bottles of liquor.

“Do you want some?”

“No, thank you, I’m good.”

“Your loss.” He poured some more bourbon in his glass and sat in front of Jin.  “So, I saw you running around, trying to find Namjoon, asking my men, asking others, making waves, till they all reached me. And you know how I don’t really like noise around me, don’t you?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but ever since he vanished, nobody seemed to be truly looking for him. I just wanted to make myself useful.”

“You are useful. With your doctor suit and your doctor skills. Stick to that. It’s your sole role within this group. I got enough men to run errands for me, I don’t need more, especially when all they do is fuck things up for me. Got that, son?”

“I just find it weird that he would disappear like that. It doesn’t make sense. And I am sorry to say this, sir, but you don’t seem very willing to find him.”

“What I do or don’t do is none of your goddamn business.” He took the piece of paper Jungkook handed him earlier and threw it in front of Jin. “There’s the address you’re looking for.”

Jin stared at the words written on the note, lost. So he had been looking for him all this time? Or was it Jungkook who gave him the address? Is that why he was so bloody? He tried to piece together the facts, but something was still not adding up. Why would Jungkook, out of all the people, be the one to go to such length to find Namjoon? He had a lot of doubt, but nevertheless, he got what he wanted. He shoved the paper in the back pocket of his jeans and got up.

“I am sorry, I didn’t know,” Jin said as he bowed in front of Black Tiger.

“It doesn’t matter. Don’t you ever talk back to me again. I have enough problems on my head as it is, taking care of you, children, is the last thing I should be doing. I’ll send some of my men to your place tomorrow, wait for them, don’t do anything stupid.”

“I will, thank you!”

“If you find him alive and well, tell him that if he wants to keep breathing, he should be smart and stay away from me. I don’t tolerate cowards. Now go, I want to rest.”

With a bit of hope and somewhat of a clearer mind, Jin went home. He did not know what to expect, but he did not waste time worrying about it. After all, what use is in worrying over something you can not control? It is just a waste of time.

As soon as he left Black Tiger’s mansion, Jungkook headed back to your apartment. He hesitated about entering, thinking you would still be there, fearing it, actually. He trusted you, but he was aware of your recklessness at times. With a promise to drag you to Yoongi’s place himself, he went in. It was empty, no trace of you, except for a barely lingering scent that was witness to your presence there the previous night. He saw the note he left you still on the table, and assumed you followed his instructions. How surprised would he have been to discover your true whereabouts? He would have probably flipped to know you were alone in a very remote place, nobody in close range to save you, were something to happen. Moreover, he would have been pissed to see you by Taehyung’s side. He knew you loved him, but this connection you had with Taehyung still bothered him. He jumped in the shower and let the water wash away everything that had happened throughout the day. After that he took a seat on the sofa and made a single phone call before falling asleep. He could have used the bed, but without you in his arms, it felt too cold, too empty, and it made him crave you even more.

“Yes?” a man’s voice echoed on the other end.

“It’s all set. Tell the men to be ready.”

“It’s done.”

“We might have a problem, but I’ll try to work my way through.”

“I trust you.”

Just a few days have passed since he got shot to save you, a few days of internal turmoil thinking he had died, but feeling that he was still alive. And now he was lying there, in a room that had been specifically redesigned by Hoseok to match that of a hospital. He had even a special bed brought it, just to make sure Taehyung got the best treatment possible. His vital signs were good, he was slowly improving. After Hoseok left that night, you spent the whole time caressing Taehyung’s face, dragging your fingers across his eyebrows, playing with his hair, all the while tears rolled down your cheeks.

“I am so sorry…. this all happened because of me. I am so sorry, Tae! Please, please, wake up. Promise me you will get better and you will wake up. I am right here, I am alive because of you. I should be dead. This is all my fault!” You said in a voice so soft it came out almost a whisper.

Later that night, Hoseok returned. It was somewhat safe for you during the day, but he preferred to spend the nights there. Plus, he needed to be there in case Taehyung’s health was deteriorating.

“I told Yoongi about your decision,” Hoseok broke the silence as you were both munching on the food he had brought along. “He wasn’t very pleased, but he said he understood why you wanted to stay here. He said to call in case you need anything, and that you can come back to the mansion any time you want.”

“Was he angry?”

“Angry, no, concerned, yes. He grew to like you quite a lot, you know. For him you are his little sister. He might not show it, but he didn’t quite get over losing her, and when you came in the picture is like he found her again. Yes, we did lie to you, some of us with good intentions. Yoongi wanted to tell you the truth on a few occasions, only that he saw you and Taehyung so happy that he just let the lies live on. The family was coming together beautifully with you around. Sure, there have been moments with Jimin that disrupted that peace, but it was always nice having you around. Even me, I enjoyed teaching you everything I did. I am sorry I had to lie to you, and thank you for obediently listening and following orders all those times, thank you for being here, helping me with Tae.”

“No need to thank me, I am doing this for him and for myself. Your apology is accepted, but the trust between us has been broken, and that will take time to heal.”

“I understand.”

“You know,” you continued, after a while, with a faded smile, “I always liked this cold, rational side of yours. You and Yoongi make such a good team when it comes to brains. You both keep your composure, no matter the situation, I like that. I wish I were as cool as you.”

“You’re a volcano,” he laughed.

“Yeah,” you too followed.

“It’s not easy to control your emotions, but after you’ve been through what we’ve been and had to lead and coordinate people, to make sure it all goes well and nobody ends up dead, you kind of become like us. It has more to do with continuous training, than it does with a default way of being.”

You looked up at him and smiled.

“What’s that for? Are we friends again?”

“I’m just thankful you are here, let’s just say. And that for once, you opened up.”

“I didn’t quite have the chance before. That guy,” he signaled into Taehyung’s direction, “wanted you all for himself.”

Your eyes traced back to the bed.

“Yeah, I guess he did. I hope he will wake up soon.”

“It might take a while. A couple of months to say the least. But if he carries on like this, he will be out of the danger zone for good in about a week or two. He’s a strong guy.”

“He is….”

That night, although you missed Jungkook’s warmth, you finally could sleep peacefully. No more nightmares, no more emotional storms, no more crying. It was as if every cell in your body suddenly loosened up and was allowed to recharge. Hence why the moment your head landed on the pillow you fell into a deep and well-deserved sleep.

The next day, just as promised, two men were waiting for Jin just outside his residence. He was a bit skeptic as he approached them, but got in the car and headed towards the given location, anyhow. The navigation led them through the outskirts of the city towards what looked like an abandoned factory. It was on the verge of shabby, but nevertheless suitable for a hideout.

“Something about this doesn’t seem right,” said Jin. There was a numb feeling in his gut that things were not what they seemed. He knew Namjoon well enough to figure that: one, he would not just vanish without a word, and two, he would most certainly not hide in a place like this. He had his hotel penthouse, plenty of security, plenty of comfort. That unless he was hiding from one within the group, which made no sense again. He was scared of Jungkook? No chance. Black Tiger then? Well that had a bit of reasoning behind it, but why? Namjoon had been following hid orders ever since Jungkook became the new leader, even though he felt betrayed. He had been loyal to the group before anything else. Come what may, he was going in.

They looked around the building for signs of anything odd, they checked the windows, but they were covered in dark paint, too dark to see inside, finally they opened the front door and entered with guns ready to fire, was Jin’s feeling to come true. They took a few steps inside. Apart from the light coming from the open door and the cracks in the roof, there was only darkness.

“Namjoon-ah! It’s Jin. Black Tiger gave me the address.” No answer. “Yah, Kim Namjoon, get out, I want to talk.” He took a few more steps ahead. That gut feeling of his became stronger. Right when he was about to turn around and leave, thinking there was a misunderstanding and he got the wrong address, a form moved in the shadows straight ahead. Before long, a dozen of men came into the picture, some with guns, some with large wooden sticks. He was right, it was a trap. They were surrounded and outnumbered. They had no chance of survival, so engaging in a fight was out of the question. Jin slowly put his arms up, followed by the other two.

“Hahaha. That was too easy,” a voice echoed. There was another one out there, but his face was still covered in darkness. As he came forward, light started to glide over his body, from his toes to his head, revealing his identity. Park Jimin. “And here I was getting all excited, waiting for you. I was expecting at least a bullet, some resistance. What a bummer.”

“Where’s Namjoon?” Jin spit.

“Woah, woah, slow down, partner.” Jimin walked all the way over to where Jin was standing. “You are in no position to ask questions here, as you can see,” he pointed at the guys surrounding them, “and you will first need to take a seat over there. You see, I am a well-mannered man, I don’t keep my guests standing, I make sure they have everything they need to be comfortable.” He signaled the guys to grab them and tie them to the chairs. They were already prepared, placed in a small circle, back to back.

“You’re Yoongi’s men, right?” Jin asked again, as he was being tied down.

“You are curious about so many things. Why? Knowing the answers will help you how, exactly?” Jin could not answer. “That’s what I thought. Settle in and don’t use up your energy, you’ll be staying here for a while. And unless you want a sock shoved in your mouth, or better off, a gun, you’d better keep quiet. I’m gonna go take a nap.” Jimin waved his hand as he vanished into the black.

“Fuck!” Jin groaned. There was no getting out of it. And he had it, he knew something was off. If only he had listened to that first impulse. It was too late, nevertheless, and instead of regrets about the past, it was better if he filled his brain with a plan to get out of this situation alive.

Later that night, Black Tiger was starting to get suspicious. He kept wondering how come he heard nothing from Jin all day long, considering he should have arrived at the location by now. He picked up the phone and dialed a number. No answer. He dialed again. This time, someone picked up.

“Yeah?”

A voice he wasn’t familiar with.

“Who is this?”

“Why do you care?”

“You’re not Jin, so I should assume he is with you.”

“You got that one right, he is.”

“Namjoon as well?”

“Questions, questions… is this how everyone in that group works? Listen here, you need to work on your security and stuff, we’ve got two of your men already. This one especially was easy to catch, but not because he is incompetent, but because you are! You sent him right into the lion’s den.”

“Yoongi…” Black Tiger hissed.

“That’s right, only that the one talking right now is Park Jimin. He sends you his regards, though. He told me to let you know that we’ll bring you down, one man at a time; or maybe is it just something I wanted to say?” He laughed, then continued on a serious note. “Oh, and don’t try to come to the rescue, we’ve already changed locations. Just sparing you the humiliation of adding more failure to the list.”

The call got disconnected before he could say anything else. The grip around the phone got tighter. His tension spiked as blood started boiling in his veins. How was that even possible? How was Yoongi once again a step ahead of him?! He proceeded into calling another number. This time, he got a bit luckier, the receiver answered in no time.

“Yes?”

“Where are you?”

“I had some errands to run. Why?”

“What errands?! Uh, nevermind, get here now!!”

Around half an hour later Jungkook entered his office. His father was hovering over his desk, head in his hands. There were bits of broken glass and plastic on the floor, which he traced back to a now shattered phone lying on the floor, covered in fine dust coming from the grazed wall that had brought about its glorious yet tragic ending. It seemed someone was in a bad mood once again, and someone else was about to have to face all that bottled-up anger.

“Tell me how it is possible for both Namjoon and Jin to be in Yoongi’s hands right now,” Black Tiger spoke in a calm manner.

“Tell you what?” Junkook kept a poker face.

The old leader raised his head and sat back in his armchair. “Don’t play stupid with me, kid.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Yoongi got Namjoon and Jin?”

“Was I not clear enough? Do you want me to explain it to you like I would to a five-year-old?” With each word he was getting more and more worked up.

“Who told you this?”

“It doesn’t fucking matter! Tell me how they managed to get four of my men!!”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook stressed every word.

A loud bang reverberated throughout the room, making Jungkook’s heart pump harder. His father’s fury had clustered into a wave of energy that made everything on and around the desk vibrate, after he smashed his fist against it. When he was in this state, it was impossible to figure out what his next move was going to be, so Jungkook did not know what to expect. But he was determined to proceed with the same composure.

“You gave me the fucking address!”

“Then they must’ve lied to me!”

The old man reached for the gun hidden in one of the drawers, cocked it, and pointed it at his son. There was no trace of parental love, no sign of remorse, just emptiness. It has always been like that. To him, Jungkook was no more than an instrument, a weapon, and an insurance that his legacy would go on. But if he were to betray him, that would instantly turn to dust and he would become the first one to get the bullet.

“Look me straight in the face and tell me you had no hand in this.”

“I have no hand in it. I just did what you told me, got you the address. That’s all.”

His hand was shaking with rage as he aimed at his child’s forehead. Jungkook never broke eye contact. His calmness and confidence proved to be enough an answer for his father, who slowly put the gun back. He fell into the armchair, once again with his head between his hands, as if a killer headache had been giving him a hard time to think.

“Tell me who told you this. For all I know, it could be a trap,” Jungkook continued.

“One of his fucking men. He had Jin’s phone.”

“Should I go there?”

“No, stay. I need you for the other thing.”

“What about Jin? His father will start asking questions.”

“I’ll see about it. You just focus on what I told you to do.”

“The men are ready, the plan is in the making, we just need to wait now.”

“Finally some good news for the day.”

Black Tiger walked up to Jungkook. He placed his hands on both of his arms, giving him a faded but proud smile. For the first time ever, Junkook saw a trace of emotion in that man’s heart. He would have been touched, hadn’t he already known that it was not coming from a place of love for him, but more from that of pride for seeing himself in his descendant. He would not have gotten the same response was it something else he had brought up, something that would not profit him directly. That is the kind of man he was, always chasing the gain, not the people. Give him something to feed his ego and he will love you forever, waste his time with other things and you will get a taste of his poison. Taken a little aback by his father’s sudden change of heart and attitude, but not surprised, Jungkook felt washed over by a sense of relief. Nevertheless, there was no time to linger in the feeling as the tide could shift at any point, biting him harder than ever anticipated. Instead he flashed a smile mirroring Black Tiger’s and cut the meeting short.

“I should get going.”

“The one that gave you the address, where can I find him?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it,” said Junkook. He bowed as the other man returned to his place.

“If you can’t get anything out, get rid of him. And more importantly, make sure you get Yoongi. I want him dead!”

Black Tiger’s loud voice echoed behind Jungkook. On his way out, Junkook looked more determined than ever. Like he had said, everything was set, it was only a matter of time. Hell was about to break loose.

Things seemed to be going smoothly for the next week or so. Black Tiger had been informed that the man with the false address had been taken care of, he had also received a picture showing Jin all well and very much alive, all the while he had been busy trying to find where they were holding his men captive. It was to no avail. Little did he know that they have not even moved from the initial location, they only went underground. But Black Tiger was so focused on the bigger picture, that details like this escaped him. To him getting rid of Yoongi was the ultimate goal. He had frequent talks with his son about how things were to go down during the so-long-awaited day, and needless to say Junkook did not fail in creating a solid plan that made his father’s heart pump with excitement. Precisely three days were left. The men were perfectly instructed and armed. No element fell out of place. This confidence blended with pure arrogance were the sweet blend that had fed Black Tiger the past days. He would go to sleep happy that he was one day closer to seeing his enemy’s downfall.

And such came D-day. Yoongi had a weapon transport coming in on the early hours of the day, when the sun has not yet risen. According to the man Jungkook had served Black Tiger on a silver plate, Yoongi was the type to personally attend large trades. This one was just that. Jungkook had rounded up his men and went through the whole scheme once again. It was a still morning. No wind, no noise, nothing but tranquility. To some it seemed eerily quiet. Everyone was already on their positions, hidden in buildings, behind large containers, in vans, waiting for their pray.

Around the given time, a distant roar made all of them jump into their focused mode, patiently listening as it drew closer and closer. One black sedan and two other SUVs pulled in. A few minutes later a van appeared from the opposite side. They watched as men started to get out of the cars, about a dozen of them, easy prey. Jungkook overlooked his people; they were ready to go in and cause chaos, only waiting for his signal. He stood in the back seat of one of the vehicles, scanning the area.

“The motherfuckers are already doing business, but I don’t see their leader. What should we do, boss?” the driver asked Jungkook.

“Leave it to me. Just wait for my signal,” he said as he stepped out.

“What?!”

The one behind the wheel was bewildered. That was not in the plan, but then again, neither was Yoongi not showing up. Trusting his leader, he sat there and watched. Jungkook walked in a slow and confident pace. He made sure all his team members noticed he had everything under control and would not mess everything by going on a shooting spree. Each of them had an ‘WTF’ plastered on their face, but followed Jungkook’s lead and stood put. They were, however, ready to jump into action at the simple rise of his finger. When he reached Yoongi’s men, none of them got their guns out, which struck some as odd. Back in the car Jungkook got out from one of the guys was getting anxious. He pulled out his phone and called Black Tiger.

“Job done?”

“Not yet, sir. Something feels off.”

“What the fuc-“

“Yoongi’s not here.”

“What?”

“It’s only some fuckers. Jungkook went over to them.”

“He what? What the fuck are you all doing?!” Black Tiger screamed.

“I guess he is stalling…until Yoongi shows up.”

“Stalling…fucking stalling!! Fucking Min Yoongi!!!” An array of anger screams and cusses filled the void. He the took a deep breath and continued. “Ok, alright…stall…just get that piece of shit! I am tired of hearing his name.”

Just as he was about to end the call, hell broke loose. Out of nowhere, bullets started flying through the air. In the confusion that paralyzed everyone, a bunch of individuals showed up out of nowhere, tipping the scale in their favor. The ones still standing started fighting back, but they were soon to fall victims to them. Hearing the commotion, Black Tiger got agitated over the phone.

“What the fuck is going on over there?!”

“They’re attacking. We’re outnumbered. We’ve been fooled! It’s an ambush!” screamed the man. Little did he know those were about to be his last words. He had already been grazed by a bullet, his pulse was high, his ears were ringing and his mouth ran dry as he looked at the carnage ahead. The one next to him was already dead, head resting on the dashboard while blood poured on the floor in a thick waterfall. The sight was horrid, the smell of death was in the air, and there was no way out. He turned on the engine, but just as he was about to drive off, he noticed someone standing outside the car, to his left. All he managed to do was turn his head only to be greeted by the barrel of a gun.

“They’re attacking. We’re outnumbered. We’ve been fooled! It’s an ambush!”

“What?! What the fuck are you talking about?!! What ambush?!?! Answer me you worthless piece of shit!!!”

The veins on Black Tiger’s neck and forehead were now swollen with rage. All he could hear over the phone were gunshots and screams of war. He could not wrap his mind around it. An ambush? When he was so confident the plan was going to work. He went through it with Jungkook three times before, there was no room for mistakes left, yet an ambush, for that they were not prepared. There was no need for it, after all. Who would have expected them to show up there? Nobody! Unless, someone ratted them out to Yoongi. The grip around his phone was so tight that it could mash it, but he couldn’t feel it, he couldn’t feel anything, for that matter. He couldn’t even hear the commotion outside his office, not before it got loud enough to overshadow the voices in his head, some obsessed to find the culprit, some cussing, some thinking about what to do next. He shifted his attention to the door.

There were multiple distant blasts followed by shouts, similar to the ones he heard through the phone, only that the call had already been disconnected. These ones were coming from behind that wooden door. Fueled by the fire inside him, Black Tiger pulled out his gun and barged into the hallway.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

His men were running up and down the stairs, hiding behind walls, columns, turned-over tables, anything that could provide some shelter. The air was polluted with debris. In the corner of his eye, he saw a male taking big steps towards the stairs. He had his arm stretched forward, shooting everyone that stood in his way. In that sea of bullets, he seemed like Moses. Only that he was no superhuman, and his arrogance brought about his demise. With no remorse or hesitation, Black Tiger pointed the gun at him and pulled the trigger. One of his men, witness to the scene, fled his refuge. He went straight to his boss, wrapped his fingers around his arms and swiftly pushed him back inside his office. He locked the door and proceeded to barricade it with one of the bookshelves. Funny enough to think a mafia leader would have an entire wall covered by bookshelves, but his were housing various models of weapons, fine liquor, fine ceramic, stone or wooden sculptures, miniature cars, and boxes of very expensive cigars, all on display to show off his wealth. Little did he know that that was all he had to his name, wealth. Except for a very small circle, nobody ever talked good things about him. They envied him, sure, but they also disrespected him as a person. The only respect he got was through extortion.

“What the fuck is going on?? How did they get in?! Is this what I pay you for?” Black Tiger screamed his lungs out. It was yet still not enough to eclipse the chaos that echoed through his mansion.

“There were too many, boss.”

“How did they even get here? We have gates!”

“They must’ve had a man on the inside, otherwise they wouldn’t have breached. The gates at the entrance to this residential area are strong enough to withstand the force of a van crashing against it at top speed. We have cameras and people monitoring day and night, nobody saw anything strange. They came out of nowhere.”

“We have a mole. A fucking mole!! Did you recognize whose men they are?”

“They seem to be Yoongi’s, boss.”

Again, that name. Like a thorn in his side, only that it was now closer to puncturing his heart than he had ever imagined. Vanity had blinded him, it brought him to his knees. He had venom instead of blood flowing through his veins now. “Min fucking Yoongi…” he thought.

“Fucking piece of shit!!” he groaned.

While Black Tiger was busy with his own thoughts, his bodyguard was looking outside the windows, checking if it was safe for them to make an escape through the garden. It seemed to be clear. Slowly, the rows of bullets died out.

“We need to get you out, boss.”

They were both staring at the entrance, as if waiting for something to happen. And it did. Another sequence of ammunition pierced through the door, making wooden shards travel though the air in all directions. A symphony of grave blasts and sharp crystalline tunes coming from empty cartridges hitting the floor made their ears ring. They both ducked down behind the desk. In an instant, it all went silent. Without hesitation, the bodyguard turned to opening one of the windows, while Black Tiger listened to the voice coming from the other side of the door.

“Cut it off, this lame game of hide and seek. There is no way out, this time, old man.”

“Min Yoongi,” he growled with teeth clenched.

“It’s clear, you can go,” his man instructed.

He helped him get up and jump out the window to the back garden. Sneaking behind bushes and trees, they managed to reach the front gate, but just as they were about to escape, a man appeared in front of them, blocking the way.

“Jungkook!” Black Tiger exclaimed in a soft and shocked voice.

Out of all the people, Jungkook was the last person he expected to stumble across. Much to his surprise, he was alive and well. What he wasn’t aware of was that while his gang members were being shot by Yoongi’s, Jungkook was already on his way back to the mansion.

“So glad you’re here! You need to get us out of here.”

Looking at the man, Jungkook almost chuckled. To think that this wimp standing now in front on him with wide eyes and a face drenched in fear was the same person that once stood tall above everyone, so full of himself and self-assured about his illusory immortality. It would have been a lie to say he did not enjoy seeing his father in this state. All those years of suffering under his tyranny, all the humiliation, they all lead up to this moment. He almost pitied the old man. In an undertaking that nobody would have been able to foresee, Junkook pulled out his gun and pointed it at Black Tiger’s forehead. In an instant, the other gang member did the same to Jungkook.

“What the fuck are you doing, kid?” Black Tiger growled.

“You’re not leaving this house. I don’t care if he’ll shoot me, you’ll be touching the ground before me, anyway.”

“You’ve gone crazy! Did it get to your head that you’re a leader now that you forgot who the real boss is around here? Get this shit out of my face and remember your place!”

“All these years, doing everything you ordered me to, quitting anything that ever made sense to me just to meet your needs and be a good son, all the times I took a beating for not meeting your standards, all the times I looked at people on the street wondering how it would be like if my father was like them, they all made me quite aware of my position now. You have to face it, your days are gone, old man.”

“W-what? My days are gone?” he started laughing then stopped abruptly, glaring at his son. It was as if the very thin last trace of human emotion had been wiped away. “Get rid of him,” he continued coldly.

The man to his left was hit by a shockwave. He was about to shoot the son of a very influential figure in the mafia world. That would cause him a lot of trouble, but also would going against the word of the said figure, since it was his order, after all. Making all the connections in his head in less than a second, de decided to go with it. Too bad that the moment he took to think it over proved to be the mistake of his lifetime. Jungkook had shot him before he got the chance to pull the trigger. He was not there to play games. Seeing the dead body at his feet and the gun aimed at him again, Black Tiger now realized that as well.

“You’ve changed, Jungkookie. Did you forget whose side you’re on?”

“You made me this way. And now it’s time I pay you back.”

Behind Black Tiger, a group of men came in view. Stepping out of the house, one by one, they were getting closer. Jungkook shifted his attention to them for a second, just enough to meet Yoongi’s eyes, then landed it back on his father. He was blissfully unaware that his mortal enemy was walking right towards him. Jungkook maintained his position. All the rage and anxiety that have haunted him over the years were now replaced by pure disgust. It was just as he had always known: in the hands of his parent, he was solely a tool. How crude and selfish of a being can one be to demand the death of his own child in order to escape?

“I told you there is no point in playing hide and seek,” Yoongi spoke from behind, making Black Tiger’s head snap in his direction. Several men were sitting on each side of Yoongi, pointing their guns at the deposed leader. “You’ve wasted your energy and my time. But I do have to say, it’s been fun seeing you at least try to make a run for it. How does it feel to crawl through the back door like a worm? That’s what you’ve been all your life, really.”

The tone in Yoongi’s voice was cold, and had no trace of vanity. He was finally face to face with the man that took everything he had held dear away from him. It took him years, but the taste of victory never felt so sweet. Black Tiger’s face darkened. He spit in Yoongi’s direction. Looking down at the place where it landed, Yoongi smirked.

“Oh, don’t make a fool of yourself, I can see you shaking under those clothes. Bet your legs are wobbly,” Yoongi mocked him. “Better yet,” an idea sparked in his head, “kneel.” This time, there was a hint of pride involved. He wanted to humiliate the one that seemed impossible to bring down to the ground.

“You dumb fuck think I’ll do that?” Black Tiger laughed.

“If you’re not going to do it, I’ll make you, worry not. I’m just kind enough to give you a choice. One way or another, you will go down on your knees in front of me and apologize for killing my family, you worthless piece of shit.”

“Fuck off, Black Tiger kneels in front of nobody. And I have nothing to apologize for.”

That is all Yoongi had to hear. He pulled out his gun and shot the man in the left knee, thus bringing him to the ground, like he said he would. Cries of pain filled the air as he rolled on the pavement.

“Care to reconsider?” Yoongi calmly asked.

“You piece of shit!!! You fucking piece of shit!!!”

“I’m out,” Jungkook said to Yoongi, visibly unmoved by the scene. It was more of a hindrance, actually.

All the while, his father has been imploring salvation in between groans and pants, not through words, but through desperate stares. The one Jungkook gave in response, however, so indifferent and detached, it took the veil of Black Tiger’s eyes, revealing the mole within the group. He was chasing ghosts while Jungkook had been there with a knife shoved in his back all along. It all made sense now: why Jin got caught, why Namjoon was nowhere to be found, how Yoongi even knew where to find them, how to barge into his house, why he wasn’t present when the deal went down, and how Jungkook has survived the whole ordeal without even one scratch.

“Working with the enemy, stabbing your own family in the back, Jungkookie?”

“Depends on what exactly your definition of family is.” After finishing the sentence, Jungkook turned around and started walking away.

“Jeon Jungkook!!! You are no son of mine!!!”

“I’ve never been,” said Jungkook loudly, but without looking back. He had other, more important issues to attend to, his true family, you.

“Seems like even your own blood abandoned you. Where is the great Black Tiger now?” Yoongi stepped in, crouching in front of his bloody opponent. That drew his attention from Jungkook back to him.

“You will never bring me down.”

“You already are.”

“My boys will get you. You will die at my hands!!”

“I doubt that. Look around,” he pointed at the surroundings and circled the enclosure with his eyes. “Your men are already dead. Expecting anyone else? They won’t come. You’re all alone. And you know what the best part is? It wasn’t even my idea. Sure, I thought about all the different ways I could get to you throughout the years, but I always hit a wall. Yet, your arrogance and blindness brought you straight into my arms. Don’t blame Jungkook, blame yourself. The piece of shit in this story is none other than you. Your greed and egocentric ways brought you here, and it’s time to pay for your sins. On your knees!”

“I will die before I kneel in front of a worthless piece of shit like you.”

“Enough of this drama act,” Yoongi said as he stood up, bored of the man’s lame attempt at keeping his dignity, something he was unworthy of. He eyed two of the men next to him. “Get him up, put him on his knees.”

Following his order, the two each grabbed one of Black Tiger’s arms and struggled to bring him up as he writhed like a fish on land.

“Take your hands off me!! Nobody touches Black Tiger! You will all pay for this.”

“When will you get it, old man? It’s over! You are just embarrassing yourself,” Yoongi intervened.

Not long after, with a bit of effort, the man was pushed down on his knees. His clothes were stained in bloody mud, his hair was a total mess, he looked nothing like the man from a couple of hours earlier, the one thinking that that day was about to call for a celebration. It was indeed, only not the one he had in mind.

“Do you remember their faces? My mom, my dad, my little sister?”

“It’s your dad’s fault! He was selfish.”

“No, no, no, you were selfish. He always gave you a hand when in need and treated you like family, but you ended up swallowing his whole existence.”

The way Yoongi carried himself through the conversation was the definition of dignity. He was standing tall, never once losing his composure nor the control over the situation, his tone was severe, but not smeared in anger. Having a leader they could trust and respect, that had been a key component to the success of his group.

“They say if you really want to make one suffer, to get your revenge, then you should take away the thing they hold closer to their heart. Judging by what you did to my family, I’d have to kill Jungkook. Honestly, it crossed my mind. But he is not your most treasured possession, your ego is. Your ego, your wealth, and your group. So, I decided to go after each at a time, but Jungkook came up with a plan that guaranteed killing three birds with one stone. We struck a deal a while ago, him and I, you see. It sounded too good to be true at the time, I give you that, but in the end, we both got what we wanted. Your ego is already on the sole of my shoes, and after I get rid of you, the name Black Tiger will lose all the value you so treasured.”

“You think you are so different, but we are much alike,” Black Tiger laughed.

“Maybe, but I am the one with the gun.”

One loud bang and the circle of revenge was at long last complete. The sound bounced off the petals of flowers and leaves of trees and echoed in the distance. The rays of the morning sun glided over the spilled blood, giving it a special glimmer. A heavy weight had been lifted off Yoongi’s chest. He looked up to the sky as if he was saying to his family they can now rest in peace. That morning brought about the ending of one’s life and the beginning of others’.

In the car, an image kept haunting Jungkook, that of his father rolling on the ground in his own blood. No matter how cold and unworthy-of-any-sort-of-emotion of a person he had been, he still pitied him. But, at the same time, he was relieved, not that he was finally free from his grasp, but because his father ultimately payed for his sins. The war that everyone expected and feared was over. Things went smoothly for everyone, unexpectedly so. Many nights he stood up considering if it was going to work, worried that something would go wrong and he will lose everything he cherished. Yet, now he was on the way to the very thing he loved the most, you.

Hidden under the blanket with the curtains still closed, you were profoundly asleep. The past days have proved to be quite challenging. There was a whole in your chest, painfully enlarging as time went by. You missed him to the very core, but trusted in his words, that he would come back. You lost and regained hope on a daily basis, it consumed you. You kept yourself from falling apart by thinking that he is probably in a worse position, and that you should stay strong for him. What would he have thought if he knew he is fighting for something you have given up already? You did not want to disappoint nor hurt him even more than he had been.

A soft knock on the door made you snap out of dreamland. You immediately searched for Hoseok around the room with your eyes, while your heart was racing and your mind was shooting all sorts of thoughts everywhere. You found Hoseok next to the door, with his back glued to the wall and the gun all set to shoot. He was tense. It seemed he did not expect visitors either. He tried to glance through the peephole, but the person on the other side had a quicker response.

“It’s me, you can open the door.”

You were nowhere near the entrance and the sound was very faint, but that voice seemed too familiar. You stood up, conflicted between believing the part of your brain that told you it was him, and listening to the other one that tried to save you the letdown of finding out it actually wasn’t him. Your heart kept on racing, but it changed from fear to suspense. Seeing Hoseok relax gave you hope. Could it really be him? The door opened, the bright morning light gushing inside blinding you. When it was closed again and your eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, the identity of the guest was revealed.

“Jungkook,” you managed to say in a very soft voice.

You jumped out of bed with shaky legs and tears in your eyes, and ran straight into his arms. The action pushed him back a step or two and took him by surprise. He was expecting you would miss him, only that not more than he had missed you.

“You came back!”

You released him from the tight grip. It felt so good to touch him again, and the feeling was mutual. You were both staring at each other as if savoring every little detail. Jungkook smiled. His eyes were now filled with warmth.

“I promised you I will, did you doubt it?”

“A little,” you chuckled.

“How did it go?” Hoseok intervened, bursting the love bubble.

“It’s done,” Jungkook replied, looking at Hoseok; then he shifted his attention to you, he tucked a strand of your hair behind the ear, and continued, “It’s over.”

“What is?” you asked, confused.

“Black Tiger is dead.”

“What? How? Did you…”

“No, not me. Yoongi.”

“I am lost…”

“A while ago me and him made a deal. He’ll let me come for you, and I’ll help bring my father down.”

“You had a hand in this…”

“I did it for us, I regret nothing.”

“Yes, but still, he was your father.”

“Trust me, he never was,” Jungkook smiled and pulled you in his warm embrace.

“What now? Won’t they come after you?”

“The ones that would’ve done so are already dead, the others will probably celebrate his death.”

“Yeah, but he was killed by Yoongi, right? So, they will come after us.”

“They won’t, we already made sure of that.”

“How?”

“We plan on merging the groups.”

“What?!” both you and Hoseok shouted. “He didn’t tell me about this,” Hoseok continued.

“He knew you’d be against.”

“I’m not precisely against it, only that I don’t see how this would work.”

“With Black Tiger and Namjoon out of the equation, I am the sole leader, only that I don’t want it. Instead, I’ll try to convince my men to join Yoongi. They have nothing to lose. Those who agree are in, the others are out.”

“You’ll kill them too?” you asked.

“No, baby.” He cupped your face. “They’ll just be thrown out of the group and left with no protection. Like I said, they are left with no leader so they will either have to join Yoongi or go look for other gangs. But with Yoongi being the alpha now, I am confident most will choose to stay.”

“It makes sense,” Hoseok agreed. “But what if they still retaliate?”

“We have enough men on our side to keep us safe, don’t we?” Jungkook smirked.

“So, when will this merge happen?”

“It is already in the works, but it will take some time. I am also meeting with some of them later today. The rest, I will have a chat with after the old man’s funeral. The vast majority will gather to pay their respect. After that, I’m out.”

“Yoongi did mention you’ll come back, but I had no clue this is what he meant.”

“You have been more of a family to me than he had ever been. I might never be able to take back what I’ve done back then, but I hope I managed to regain your trust, at least. You also saved Y/N and kept her safe, for that I will always be grateful.”

“What you did today, it took a lot of courage. You have my respect for that.”

Jungkook and Hoseok gave each other approving smiles and shook hands.

“So where does this leave us now?” you asked Jungkook.

He placed his hands on your waist and pulled you in.

“We are free. Where do you want to enjoy this freedom?”

“Wherever is fine, as long as I’m with you.”

You could not believe it. Deep inside, you still waited to wake up and realize it had all been just a dream. Your mind had been so corrupted during the time you spent in the mafia, that it was impossible to accept a positive change without thinking that a tragedy was waiting for you at the end of the tunnel. But your fingers touched Jungkook, you could feel him, he was there. The details of how he managed to do it all were still hazy, but you payed no mind. As long as you two could stay together, the rest was irrelevant.

“Guess we’ll have to look for a new place.”

“What about our flat?”

“It carries too much pain. We need a new start. Also, we’ve got a wedding to plan,” he grinned as you stared at him, speechless. All you could do was press your lips against his in a soft-but-overflowing-with-emotion kiss.

Hoseok glanced over at Taehyung, pity hidden behind his cold expression. He was lying there, probably listening to every word, without the possibility to snatch the girl and run away to the edge of the world. Was it not for his state, he would have probably punched Jungkook by now and wreaked havoc on everyone standing in his way. It was odd to see him so peaceful in a situation like this. Seeing you with Jungkook sure felt weird for him, having only seen you with Taehyung so far, but he could not help but agree that you were meant for each other.

“If you plan on getting horny, you better get a separate room.”

Hoseok’s statement made you both laugh. He also flashed a smirk on the way to get his phone. There were still things he needed to take care of. With the plan having gone so smoothly thus far, it was his turn to make a move on the chess board. He left more or less in a hurry, leaving the two of you to catch up and watch over Taehyung. He drove all the way to Yoongi’s house and went straight to the basement to pay someone a special visit. He opened the door to the dark secret room, to which he was greeted with an intense stench. In the center stood a chair with an almost lifeless form attached to it. The ropes that bound him seemed to be the only things keeping him in that position, otherwise, he would have surely been on the floor already, with how his head was hanging loosely.

“Get up. You and I are going on a trip.”

The man reacted to the voice resonating through the room, a clue he was still alive. Other than that, he did look very much dead. His skin was pale, his breathing barely noticeable, he was covered in bruises and blood, his clothes were ripped, he had no strength left. He slowly pushed his eyelids open and traced the shadow that stretched to his toes all the way to the one standing in the doorway. He grinned with a trace of disgust. What was even more disgusting was the blood that still covered his mouth and teeth, which made Hoseok grimace.

“Fucker,” Namjoon muttered. “Just kill me, I’m not telling you shit.”

“I’m not here to question you.” Hoseok walked towards him. “You are useless now.” He started untying the ropes as Namjoon groaned. He had been tied for so long, that when the pressure was off, his skin burned.

“May I ask why?” he laughed in a mocking way, with whatever strength he had left.

“You’ll find out. Now up!”

Hoseok shoved his arms under Namjoon’s armpits and pulled him up into a standing position. Only that his muscles were so weak that it made standing difficult and walking almost impossible. Every slight movement hurt, but after all the beatings, he grew used to it. He kept wondering what Hoseok had in mind, as he dragged his feet across the floor. With lots of help, he made it to the car. Seated in the back, with his hands tied, he kept shifting his glance from Hoseok to the view outside the window. The sun was blinding, but the world never seemed more beautiful. Being trapped in a basement, drowning in his own stench to the point he became immune to it, covered in darkness, with no accurate perception of time, it changed the way he looked at things.

“I don’t assume you offered me a ride to ease my mind, so where exactly are you taking me?”

“Don’t waste your breath.”

“You made a deal with Black Tiger, is that it? He made an offer you couldn’t refuse, and now you’re taking me back,” Namjoon said with a proud grin.

“What I couldn’t refuse was having to take you there myself. You reek.”

“You can drop me off, then. I can make my way back.”

“Who said anything about you going back?” he glared at him through the mirror.

“So you’ll kill me then?”

“Just shut the fuck up.”

“Why didn’t you kill me earlier? There was nobody bothering you. Why drag me all the way to fuck knows where?”

“Maybe I’ll just do it here and now.”

“And get your precious car dirty? Naah, I don’t think you would.”

“Try me.”

They fixed each other with death stares though the mirror once again. Hoseok was not feeling Namjoon’s failed attempt at a conversation, his furrowed brows and frigid tone were enough a hint.

“Fine, whatever. You’re so boring.”

Silence fell over them again as Namjoon went back to admiring the surroundings. During the whole time, he had been assessing the situation, evaluating his chances of survival was he to make an attempt to strangle Hoseok and flee. There was a huge gangster sitting right next to him, behind Hoseok, so he had no clear way of getting his arms around his neck. He had no gun, nor was he about to fight the man next to him to steal his, he was too weak. Within 2 seconds of trying, he’d already be knocked out cold by the beast. He couldn’t open the door and jump either, because the car was going too fast. He had no way out of the car, but maybe he stood a chance once they got to the location. He decided to preserve his energy for that, so he leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes.

It did not take long until the car came to a standstill. Hoseok stepped out and went to get Namjoon. The latter scrutinized the area. Somewhere on the outskirts of the city, not very circulated, no forest nearby in which he could hide, only a shabby structure that once probably served a purpose. With fingers digging the back of Namjoon’s neck, Hoseok forced him to walk into the building. The windows were painted black, so light was scarce, but in the very spots it did come through, he saw a bunch of men surrounding three others tied to chairs. Deja-vu struck Namjoon. His anxiety and curiosity reached new levels. What exactly had Hoseok planned? To add him to the trio? What was this, group torture? He was dead-set on not giving information, disappointing Black Tiger was the last thing he wanted.

“Oh, the guest of honor is here!” a cheerful voice echoed from the other side of the hall.

Namjoon squinted, trying to get a clear view of the one talking. The corners of his lips curled into a cocky smile when he realized who it was. It seemed like the party was just about to begin.

“I am deeply touched to see you’ve been waiting for me, Jimin.”

Jimin chuckled. He sat up from the couch he had been lying on and walked towards one of the three in the center. “See, I told you he will come. I am a man of my word!”

Namjoon stared in confusion. He could not see the other clearly. Who exactly could it have been? He had no relatives, no close connections they could have kidnapped in order to get him to open his mouth. Hoseok pushed him forward. With no support, he wobbled and ended up falling flat on the floor. The others watched as the once almighty gang member exerted himself to get back on his feet. A couple failed attempts and rounds of laughter later, Jimin took him by the clothes and dragged him all the remaining way.

“Still got some strength in you, little sucker,” Namjoon mocked him.

“Oh yeah, I did get a good workout and it added to my strength. Had quite a good punching bag, you see,” Jimin answered with a grin while he threw spears in Namjoon’s eyes with his own. They both laughed, thinking about the time Jimin spent hitting the other over and over, till his arms got bloody.

Curious about the three central pieces of this oh-so-familiar scene, Namjoon looked up. His expression turned sour at the sight. Right in front of him, tied tightly around the torso, and legs, with a cloth stuffed in his mouth, was his sole friend, Seokjin. He figured out the ones next to him were Black Tiger’s men as well. An urge to kill everyone in the room rushed from his heart to his limbs, but it was still not enough to increase the chance of survival. Jin seemed depleted as well. Jimin took out the cloth from his mouth and proceeded to untie him, in everyone’s awe. Anxiety haunted them. Why would they bring Namjoon there and release them? Were they planning on making them run and hunt them down or what?

“What are you doing?” Jin asked.

“What I promised. I have no reason to keep you a prisoner,” Jimin said calmly.

“What game are you playing now, scum?” Namjoon followed up.

“No need for games anymore.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?”

Once Jimin finished untying Jin, he went next to Namjoon. He looked him straight in the eye and proudly said: “I have an ace up my sleeve,” after which he carried on his way to Hoseok.

“You are free to go. We’ll leave, but don’t try anything stupid, you’re outnumbered,” Hoseok instructed the confused prisoners.

“I don’t trust them,” Namjoon said softly to Jin. They exchanged skeptical looks, after which Jin spoke.

“What’s the catch? You said you have an ace up your sleeve, what is it?”

“It is my greatest pleasure to announce you that Black Tiger is dead,” Jimin answered.

Horror washed over their faces. Namjoon frowned in disbelief. There was no way he was telling the truth. Black Tiger was no easy target, he would not have gone down so easily. What he did not know, was that it had been an inside job. Actually, him falling into Yoongi’s hands made things even easier. If he would not have followed Jungkook and started the feud on the rooftop, maybe Black Tiger would have still been alive, or at least it would have put Jungkook and Yoongi through some serious problems.

“Bullshit!” he growled.

“Don’t believe me? See for yourself.”

Jimin took the phone Hoseok handed him and slid it across the floor all the way to Namjoon’s feet. The screen showed a picture of the deceased resting peacefully in a pool of his own blood. Upon seeing it, two things happened within Namjoon: his anger peaked and his world came tumbling down. He grabbed the phone and threw it back to where it came from. It was the only thing he could do, and he missed the target. Simultaneously, Jimin and Hoseok moved away from the trajectory of the flying object. Unimpressed by the gesture, Hoseok turned around and walked towards the exit, while Jimin started laughing and clapping.

“Nice shot! I see you still got some strength left yourself. Too bad we can’t play together anymore. Anyway, it’s been fun. See you around, losers!”

Namjoon and Jin watched as they all left the building. They still could not believe it, nor could they understand why they chose to let them go and did not kill them on spot as well. What gain could they possibly get from it? Jin examined his friend.

“You look really bad. You need to get those wounds treated. We need to get out of here right now.”

He tried to pick him up, but Namjoon was lost in thought and would not budge. Thoughts were racing through his mind, yet it was silent.

“I’m not going.”

“What? Cut the crap, you need help.”

With the help of one of the guys, Jin managed to get him on his feet. He yanked his arms free and staggered all the way to the sofa where Jimin had laid. The gun he carried was still there, he first noticed it when Jimin dragged him all the way to Jin. He checked it out, saw it was still loaded and cocked it.

“What are you doing?”

“There is no point in me living.”

When he saw Namjoon going towards the sofa, he thought he needed rest, then when he caught a glimpse of the gun, he thought the crazy bastard was about to go on a rampage, to which he was prepared to talk him out of. But this, this he was not ready for.

“What kind of shit are you saying? You’re delirious, you need help.”

“You don’t get it, do you? Black Tiger is dead.”

“So?”

“So they will not let me live.”

“They just did.”

“No. I would die anyway. Do you think I would just go out there and live my life?”

“Why not? What’s so difficult in that?”

“Maybe it’s easy for you, but not for a man like me. I was raised by him to take his place. Now Jungkook has it, and he has enough reason to want to kill me. And me to kill him. But what do I have? Nothing. I would rather end this now, than die by one of their hands.”

Jin walked slowly towards him. He was terrified. After having to live through being taken prisoner, seeing his friend die was the last thing he needed. He understood his point of view, but disapproved of his method of dealing with the problem.

“You can run away. I can help you.”

Namjoon scoffed. “Running away is not something I would do. I appreciate the help, old friend, but there’s nothing you can do. Go live your life freely, find a woman, have kids, leave the mafia before it kills you too. It’s all just bullshit, anyway. Farewell, my friend,” he said warmly and flashed a smile in Jin’s direction.

Before he could take another step, Namjoon put the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. The sound of the gun firing the deadly bullet resembled that of a mirror shattering. This time, the mirror represented Jin. One man ending his life, broke another’s.

“No!!!”

His scream filled the room, reaching even the furthest and darkest corners. It was too late. Tears filled his eyes as he held the lifeless body of his childhood buddy, confidant and partner in crime. Seeing the two people he thought were the epitome of power being pushed into their graves, one after the other, made him realize just how futile everything truly was. Life was a game of chance in which your coin could, at any point, land on the losing side.

The following week had been tough for everybody. It came with a lot of challenges and pressure. During the funeral of Black Tiger, as the plan stated, Jungkook instructed his men that from that day forward Yoongi’s gang and his were one. He invited everyone against the idea to leave immediately, to which only a dozen had the courage to turn their backs against him, and introduced the others to the new leader, Min Yoongi. There were no cheers of joy, but no signs of rejection either, at least not on the surface. For the undercover rebels, Yoongi already had backup. During the whole ordeal, you had been left alone with Taehyung. Your anxiety levels only came down when you received a call from Jungkook letting you know it all went well.

It still felt like a dream, but, as days gone by, you were getting convinced it was actually reality unfolding. Taehyung showed signs of fast recovery, and soon enough he was brought to the rehabilitated safehouse that had been your home for the very first months since you woke up after the car crash. Hoseok and Jimin were always on the lookout for rats and possible attacks, as well as new ways to spread their business. Yoongi was finally content, no longer haunted by ghosts and ruled by the thirst for revenge. You had forgiven his mistakes, but was never able to rebuild the lost friendship you had with Jimin. Too much had been said and done between the two of you, and both sides agreed that it was better to keep it this way.

You and Jungkook had moved into a larger apartment and spent a good few days making up for the time you were kept apart. The past few months had never seen you smile so much, or be so carefree. It was all over, truly over. Paranoia was still a big part of your lives, but it was no longer a constant thorn in your chests. You were happy. Sleeping and waking up in his arms, arguing about what food to eat or what movie to watch, teasing and making fun of each other, you were happy. You decided it was best for you to move abroad, leave it all behind and start afresh. Jungkook started looking into colleges, you as well. You still wanted to pursue psychology, with even more fervor now that you had gathered all sorts of insights into the dark side of society and the effects it had on humans. Like that, time unrolled, dragging you along with it. And so came the big day.

“You are so beautiful,” Jungkook whispered in your ear.

He was hugging you from behind as you stood in front of a tall mirror. You smiled.

“Are you ready?”

“Oh, God, I don’t think I can go through with this. I feel like throwing up.”

He turned you over to face him. “Don’t be nervous. The Y/N I know is a badass female that jumped out of the window without hesitating, that endured torture and pain like a pro, I am sure she will do fine.”

The corners of your mouth kept going up with every word he said. He was a master of blowing away your worries. You pressed your lips against his in a sweet and hasty kiss. He went in for more, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. You both glanced towards the source of the sound, waiting for the rude intruder to come inside. Your eyes grew larger at the sight of the one peeking through the slightly open door. Slightly annoyed, Jungkook cupped your face and broke the silence.

“I’ll wait for you outside.”

“Oh, ok.”

One more kiss and he was out. Passing the one that cut their sweet moment short, Jungkook threw him a cold glare. The other simply smirked.

“Taehyung-ah…”

“Long time no see, princess,” he said with a devilish grin, his signature.

You heard he had woken up from his coma a couple of days back, but things have been so hectic, you postponed meeting him. Not only that, but you were not ready to face him. In the time he had been out, you had to create a new identity, find a new place to live, run errands here and there, and most importantly build yourself back up. Deep inside, you dreaded meeting him again. Not because you hated or feared him, but because you were afraid that the leftover feelings you had for him would blossom again.

You were both in awe. He let his eyes roll down your body from the curls of your hair, to the white lace that embraced your shoulders, over the elegant gown that gave you a royal touch, down to the train that stretched across the floor like a mystical waterfall. You were breathtaking. The fire inside him lit up the moment your eyes met. He wanted to just get rid of Jungkook and have you all for himself. He knew he could do it, but he knew even better that was not the way to win your heart. That had already been given to Jungkook, a long time ago. He was determined, however, to watch over you as you walk into your new life.

“You look stunning,” he continued, walking towards you. “I always pictured you this way. Too bad.”

He was also a blessing for the eyes, dressed in a perfectly fitted suit, with his long locks carefully groomed, but sadness weighted on his shoulders. You wrapped your arms around him, not able to mutter another word. Tears blurred your vision. Feeling you against him once again, Taehyung regained energy. You got lost in the feeling for a few minutes. It was strange. You were happy, relieved to see him on his feet again, yet anxious and sad that he would try to take you away and you will have to break his heart. Little did you know, that he came there with an already broken heart. The moment Yoongi handed him the invitation, it was clear that he had lost, and that there was nothing he could do.

“If you still care to reconsider, I’d gladly take you as my wife,” he cracked a joke.

You started laughing and released him from your grip. “I can’t believe you are here. I honestly didn’t think you’d come."

“And miss this,” he pointed at you. “No chance. I also wouldn’t miss a dance with you, princess.”

“Already saved.”

“Perfect.”

Your eyes were glued to each other. It was beautiful to see, there was no trace of lust, only genuine care for the other.

“Thank you for everything, Tae. I wouldn’t be here today, if it weren’t for you. I owe you my life.”

“You can still run away with me, if you are so grateful.”

“Stop it, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He made a long pause, then continued. “Geez, you should see the look on your face. I am kidding! No need to thank me, I did what I thought was the right thing to do. I have no problem giving my life for a person close to my heart. Just make sure it wasn’t for nothing.”

“I will do my best!”

You both smiled. He admired you once more, you exchanged a few more jokes, and then he went outside to wait for your great entrance. Walking on a red carpet made of rose petals towards the altar where Jungkook waited, you felt like throwing up again. It was a beautiful setting, out in the open, with only the people closest to the both of you, surrounded by nature and kissed by the sun. Yoongi offered to lead you to the altar, he said you reminded him so much of his sister, that he wanted to be there for you on this big event. He proudly offered your hand to Jungkook, and stepped aside as the ceremony started. It was an emotional moment. Nervous as you were, you followed in Jungkook’s steps, and prayed it all ended faster. The party that followed was wild. To see gangsters dance and sing their hearts out on the dancefloor was something to laugh about for days on end. Like promised, you shared a dance with Taehyung, after which he bid farewell and got lost in the city in a desperate attempt to drown his feelings in alcohol and get over you. The break of dawn caught you and Jungkook lost in each other’s touch with burning passion. After the heat faded away, you put your hands up in the air and admired the wedding rings that now bound you flesh and soul.

“I honestly didn’t think we’d make it,” you said with a trace of sadness in your voice.

Jungkook pulled you tighter into his arms. Countless of nights he had thought the same, un until that very moment. Yet he did manage to keep the biggest promise ever made to you, the oath that he would never leave your side and he would keep you safe at any cost. Fate had submitted your love to many trials, but failed to break it. On the contrary, it made the connection stronger. With scared minds and souls, no matter what future had in store, you were determined to push forward.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too!”

The end.

A/N: This chapter took a long time coming, went through a lot of plot changes and adjustments, hope you will like the final result. And yes...the awaited and dreaded moment....the final chapter. Hope you enjoyed it! Thank you so much for reading and being so patient! Thank you for the love and support. It meant a lot.

#bts #bts mafia au #bts angst #jungkook #taehyung #yoongi #namjoon #hoseok #jimin #jin #oath #fanfiction

[glorious-blackout]

Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Epilogue

@rock-n-roll-fantasy Aaaaaand it’s over! This is technically more of an optional ending as I suspect you’ll prefer the conclusion to Part Seven, but a certain character would never have forgiven me if I didn’t let him get the last word... 😉

Thank you so much for all of your lovely feedback and sorry for making you wait so long for these last two chapters! And now it’s time for me to finally start listening to Arctic Monkeys/Muse albums that *weren’t* released in 2018 😅🥰

Also I would like to thank Matt for unknowingly writing the perfect end-credits music for me: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B8tpkpoSW5I

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven 

*********************************************

A million miles away, on the desolate remains of the planet once known as Earth, a lone observer watches silently as a pair of retreating figures on a cramped TV screen ride off into the unknown.

Surrounding him on all sides are thousands of similar screens, stacked atop each other like building blocks, though for the moment he only has eyes for one. Only a week ago, every single screen was proudly lit up, showcasing the intimate details of his subjects’ mundane lives and thus allowing him to observe with unrelenting scrutiny. Now, however, a worrying proportion of those screens are fizzing with broken static; the worlds they once displayed forever lost from his grasp.  

The sight should enrage him, and perhaps one day it will. Every barren screen represents the loss of constant hours of effort and imagination, and as the aftershocks of Matthew’s assault continue to ricochet, he imagines he will lose countless more over the coming weeks. Nevertheless, for the moment he cannot bring himself to mourn the loss of realities which brought him little pleasure in the first place.

Murph, or The Creator, or whichever title he chooses to wear on any particular day, does not consider himself a cruel being. Contrary to the vile accusations his peers have levelled against him, his games are not designed with the intention of torturing the subjects within them. In fact, one could consider his efforts to preserve the collective consciousness of a dying species to be a noble one. Humanity would be nothing more than a distant memory had he not intervened at the opportune moment. And yet, despite his good intentions, acting as a benevolent observer often fails to bring the satisfaction he desires. Sometimes boredom settles deep within his bones and he cannot help but interfere with the idyllic lives his subjects have created for themselves.  

And he cannot deny that the thought of these two particular playthings discovering hope which will ultimately be torn away does put a smile on his face.

Most of that satisfaction lies in the prospect of punishing Matthew, though he has no doubt that toying with Alexander’s heart further will provide its own brand of levity. Where bitter vengeance is concerned, however, the former is the one he truly has unfinished business with. That particular human has been a thorn in his side from the very beginning; his knack for slipping into paranoia at any given opportunity had made constructing a believable reality for him an almost insurmountable challenge. The temptation to simply banish the man’s mind into the void had flared up once or twice, but in the end Murph had been somewhat successful. Matthew had bought the truth of his reality with relative ease for the first few years, to the point where any cracks that appeared were easily ironed out with a simple rewrite of code.  

Until one day, Murph’s interferences were no longer sufficient to sustain the lie. Matthew’s conviction shattered and his mind with it; without warning, he set about tearing the carefully constructed world around him to shreds and treated his lifelong friends with open hostility. Murph could easily have given him up for lost at that point. Matthew had always been an infuriatingly willful creature – incapable of appreciating Murph’s efforts even after stumbling upon the truth of his feeble existence – and killing him would have been as simple as swatting a fly.

And yet, Murph had allowed him to live. Not out of any form of mercy, heavens no, but because the promise of a challenge was far too compelling. Matthew’s resistance made him special, whether he realised it or not. Most of his subjects were docile creatures; passive participants in a charade they refused to acknowledge. The ones who had come into his care willingly were the worst offenders, having subconsciously convinced themselves that they were caught in a blissful afterlife preferable to the miserable future they would have endured on Earth. Perhaps they’re right, but humans living in quiet contentment have always made for boring viewing. In the form of Matthew, Murph had finally stumbled upon an active participant he could slowly unravel at the seams, and after years of steadily building ennui, the thrill of the chase had been downright intoxicating.

In contrast to Matthew’s blatant rage, Alexander’s resistance had been... unexpected. The strength of it even more so. Murph cannot help but wonder if the sheer force of his suspicion – his feeling of utter wrongness in a place he’d once willingly called home – would have reduced his world to dust even in the absence of Matthew’s influence. Perhaps this shouldn’t have surprised him. For as long as he can remember, he has always had more trouble maintaining the lie when the subjects have been unwillingly brought under his control. The same is true for all species he has salvaged; it is the same factor which no doubt played a role in Matthew’s refusal to accept his own reality. Murph can manipulate their memories all he likes, but the inherent desire to escape their miserable fate is forever latched onto their souls.

The new identity had been an inspired touch in the beginning, keeping Alexander’s naturally insightful tendencies at bay for a while. Mark had been a more amicable creation while still retaining plenty of Alexander’s attributes, and the latter’s imagination had always made his reality one worth visiting. However, the line between the two identities had grown considerably blurred over time. Memories had melded together in ways that no longer made logical sense, and Alexander’s yearnings for home had translated to a bitter exhaustion and loneliness which Mark simply couldn’t overcome.  

The fact that everything Murph had built had ultimately been derailed by a bottle of scotch and a friendly conversation was as clear a sign as any that Mark’s world had been hanging by a thread far longer than he had appreciated.

It probably took more effort than it was worth to salvage Alexander’s mind from his dying world and place it in an entirely new one - costing countless other simulations in the process - but he cannot bring himself to regret that decision. It hadn’t seemed fitting to let such promise fizzle out with a mere whimper. Entertainment is a rare commodity in these trying times, and he’s learned to take what he can get.

Matthew has certainly contributed his fair share. Having decided that killing him outright would be a waste, Murph had invested a lot of time in their frantic game of cat and mouse. While his plaything remained confined within the limits of his own reality – a frightfully boring seaside town on England’s coast – Murph had upped the ante by unleashing a horde of mutated creatures, using them as vectors to introduce a virus which reduced the population to rabid monsters driven solely by bloodlust. If Matthew had been particularly shaken by this new development, he’d masked it well. If anything, he seemed to glean a sense of bitter enjoyment out of receiving confirmation that his reality was little more than a façade, and had risen to the unspoken challenge admirably.  

Before long it had occurred to Matthew that an absence of limitation placed upon the imagination could also apply to him. He learned not only how to play the game, but how to adapt the rules in his own favour. Murph had quickly come to rue the day he placed Matthew in a technologically inventive time-period, for his opponent had taken advantage at every opportunity; fashioning makeshift weapons and vehicles out of little more than scrap metal and a vast imagination. No particular engineering prowess was necessary. Before long he was summoning technology out of thin air with an ease that almost rivalled Murph’s own.

Even then, Murph had been unconcerned. Despite Matthew managing to slaughter any mutated creature he crossed paths with, the threat he posed to Murph himself seemed so miniscule as to be easily dismissed. At least at that point Matthew had mostly been sticking to the rules. Once the penny dropped that his reality was merely one of thousands in an intricate web, however, he’d accomplished the unimaginable and injected something which might have been fear into Murph’s long-decayed heart. Disbelieving eyes had been glued to the screen as Matthew fashioned a portal from scrap; one which should, by rights, have been unable to accomplish anything of merit. And yet, once its construction was complete, Matthew had stepped into the blinking red void without a trace of fear, smashing his way through the walls of one reality and emerging into another, whole and seemingly unscathed.  

Quashing his efforts had become a much greater priority at that point. Treating Matt like a dog-eared chew-toy in his own reality was all well and good, but the man had gained far more intelligence and influence than Murph could tolerate. The prospect that he could potentially infect other realities with his schemes threatened to send Murph’s entire empire crumbling to ash if he wasn’t careful. In the more futuristic settings, he had been able to station guards designed in his own image, with the sole intention of blasting Matthew into atoms if he dared worm his way into their reality, but rather predictably Matt had dodged their attacks with a wry smirk, bending the rules to his will with an expertise that was almost frightening. Despite the seriousness of the man’s objective to track down his loved ones and rescue them from an existence he naively deemed to be diabolical, Murph got the distinct impression that Matthew was enjoying himself far too much. He was still treating his escapades like a game, long after Murph’s own objectives had darkened.  

Well, if he insisted on playing dirty, then Murph could resort to that as well.

He’s still proud of his next trick. The brutal reaction it had elicited had been nothing short of delicious. With vivid gratification, he recalls the momentary spark of hope in Matthew’s eyes as his gaze settled upon the avatars of his friends, during a visit to a simulated reality which almost resembled Earth. He remembers the moment his opponent had allowed longing to override logic; remembers the point where all thoughts of the chase were abandoned and, with a cautious smile, Matthew had fooled himself into believing that he’d discovered the true forms of the men he’d loved since he was a teenager.  

What must it have felt like to see them again, Murph cannot help but wonder? The Christopher and Dominic of Matthew’s own reality had been dispatched early in their charade, infected and mutated by the same creatures Matthew evaded with relative ease. No doubt the only reason Matthew survived their losses was because he’d already accepted that they were nothing more than sorry substitutes for the real thing. A part of him must have wondered, however, if that was truly the end. If the last association he would ever have of his two best friends would be the sight of them clawing their way towards him in a mindless rage.

The cold mix of terror and heartbreak that crashed upon Matthew once the blatant hatred in the eyes of his friends became crystal clear is an image Murph still treasures. For one bittersweet moment he’d honestly suspected that Matthew would surrender and let fate carry him away, rendering Murph the victor and granting fleeting satisfaction in the aftermath.  

Alas, survival instincts had kicked in at the last possible second, and Matthew had fled the scene at a sprint before his familiar assailants could shoot.

The temptation to do the same to Alexander had arisen once or twice, on the occasions where boredom reared its ugly head. It would have been a simple enough task. The avatars for three of his best friends were already buried in the simulation; a simple rewrite of their code would have turned their inherent fondness for Alex into hatred in a heartbeat. He could even have added one additional ghost into the mix, just to twist the knife until the pain would never stop. Alex had never done anything to warrant that level of torture, however. Playing with Matthew’s heart had been entertaining - not to mention earned - whereas playing with Alex’s would have been like kicking a puppy just to see how it would react. Momentarily thrilling, perhaps, but ultimately predictable.

Besides, Matthew had made him pay for his cruelty, albeit not quite as successfully as Murph has led him to believe. His constant hopping from one reality to another had rendered Murph’s creations vulnerable. His brutal smashing through virtual walls left aftershocks in the wake of his adventures, although that in itself was easily fixable. Murph had quickly grown tired of his continued insolence over time. Not so much his continued survival, though he did make a point to send the morphed versions of his friends after him at every given opportunity. However, Matt had an unfortunate habit of forgetting that, in the wake of Murph’s towering influence, he was little more than a cockroach waiting to be squashed underfoot. The lack of respect had forced Murph to step in, to confront this tiny creature and remind him that he was simply an insignificant plaything in the grand scheme of things.

Matthew’s lack of fear when faced with him for the first time had almost been impressive, though Murph had been able to sense his feeble heart racing with adrenaline. The human had stood impassively on a steep cliff-edge while Murph towered over him, revealing his true form for the first time. From a distance Matt must surely have looked like a blot on the horizon and nothing more.  

Such a meeting had no doubt been Matt’s intention. Murph allowing himself to become invested in the game rather than erasing Matthew from existence in the first place had been a mistake borne of arrogance, and he now knows it would serve him well not to make the same mistake again. The mind-numbing aftershocks stemming from the moment Matthew powered up a metallic glove and aimed a colossal, fiery beam of energy at his tormenter serve as a bitter reminder that he must learn to be more careful.

Physically the assault had done nothing at all. Even if Matthew’s corporeal body were standing right in front of him at this very moment, any attempt to attack would have the same effect as a mouse trying to destroy a mountain.  

The mental assault, however, had been far more powerful than Murph could ever have anticipated.

Perhaps Matthew himself believed the weapon he’d designed was a physical one; he seems willing to accept the possibility that it killed its target after all. What the beam had truly unleashed, however, was a sheer, unrelenting wave of emotion. All of Matthew’s simmering rage and heartbreak had drowned Murph under its weight as his consciousness was overcome by burning sparks of light. All of Matthew’s love for his friends and family - which had become so intertwined with grief during his entrapment - reduced Murph’s mind to a blank haze, and beneath it all the sheer power of hope and determination had shattered the reality they’d both been standing in.  

A similar feeling of powerlessness had overcome Murph not long before, when Alexander somehow anticipated Murph’s attempts to erase Matthew from his mind and erected a mental block so formidable that his very reality had trembled. This was different, however. Alex’s attempt had been powerful but clumsy, like batting his arms against an unseen enemy in the dark. In contrast, Matthew’s assault had been the direct attack of a man desperate to burn Murph to the ground without a care in the world for whether he himself survived the aftermath.  

Murph had awoken in his nest, surrounded by screens and caught in a daze. In a moment of madness, he’d spared Matthew’s dying mind from the crumbling reality he was trapped within, fashioning a new one in the blink of an eye. One with considerably less tricks and theatrics. One that resembled the home Matt yearned for so desperately, recreating it so convincingly that his insightful mind appears to have taken the bait.  

Murph cannot help but wonder if it would have been easier to let Matthew die. Alex too. The latter’s knack for questioning his authority will no doubt prove troublesome, now that he knows to be distrustful of the reality presented to him. For now though, Matthew remains his greatest concern. His mind still aches in the wake of the man’s assault. With each passing second, he can feel more and more worlds fade into nothingness, leaving only static in their wake and claiming the souls of thousands in the process. Losing them all is not a possibility he wants to comprehend. He has not spent enough time on Earth to justify heralding humanity’s extinction so early, and alternative dying planets are harder to come by than one might expect.

He wonders how Matthew would feel if he knew he’d disrupted and destroyed the minds of so many people. People who were once as human as him and Alex, who are now gone without the faintest trace that they ever existed in the first place. People who had no say in their fate, nor any stakes in the game they’ve both been playing for far longer than necessary. Would he be so overwhelmed by guilt that he would no longer be able to function? Would the realisation be the final straw in snapping the man’s mind like a twig once and for all?

Or will he consider those people to be liberated from their prison like the naïve fool that he is?

No doubt Murph will find out the answer to that eventually. This particular ammunition is too valuable to waste.  

That can wait until later though. Matthew and Alex still need to be eased gently into believing that their current reality is real; there will be time for twisted revelations and sacrifices later. Besides, regardless of the eventual outcome, Murph can take comfort in knowing that his ultimate victory is inevitable.  

He wonders how long it will take for the penny to drop. For those final, fearful memories to return. For the realisation to sink in that, for all their struggles to return to their beloved realm of flesh and bone, they’ve chosen to embark on an endeavor which is entirely futile.  

They have no physical bodies to return to. No means of roaming the Earth as living creatures. Any vessels they may have previously inhabited sputtered and died when their minds were pulled from their heads; their bodies buried long ago, having been wept over by the same people they insist on mourning now.  

As for their minds? Well, they’ll remain in Murph’s capable hands until the moment he tires of them and blinks them out of existence. No doubt it will be a long while before he’s driven to such extremity, of course. These two are fortunate that they’re as entertaining as they are annoying, and tormenting them further will certainly be one way to pass the time.  

As it stands, time is all he has.  

So for now, he’ll gladly let them indulge in their fantasy. He’ll construct a small band of survivors five miles from the beach, offering food and shelter and an explanation for their ruined earthen surroundings which somewhat mirrors the truth. He’ll offer campfires and music; will allow pleasant recollections of their previous lives to return to them in the form of dreams. He may even offer whispers of other survivors closer to the city, with descriptions matching the loved ones whose arms they wish so desperately to return to.  

There’s no rush. No need to pull the rug from under their feet too early and spoil the fun.

It’s only a game after all.

#honestly i probably should have watched the ST movie before writing this thing #this chapter really was me trying to piece together some semblance of a story from the music videos/gifs #hopefully it's not completely incoherent 😅 #Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino #Simulation Theory #Arctic Monkeys #Muse #my fic #writing

[darklydeliciousdesires]

From the Ashes - Chapter Eleven.

Tag list - @breakmeaswitchson @madbaddic7ed @ruelf-emedam @brexfrix @ xxphoenixflyerxx  @ur-royal-thighness @geekyweed @holyhumorliteraturelight @jinaaaannnnn @alliyjane @notso-fetch @zoe-rachel-crisp @glowien @tranquility-or-chaos @bucky-did-nothing-wrong @shileen91 @boiled-onionrings @helloitsmeaime203 @cheritzie @hm-fck @mary-ann84 @skylarmorgan1899 @alwayshave-faith @alliyjane @shyen18 @shadesofarrogance @justjulie1105 @soulmatelove96 @agniavateira @stormnightsong @xmother-mortemx​ @gamingaquarius​

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten

Chapter Eleven

“You’re walking bow legged,” Geralt commented, looking amused as he, Arelle and the group of sprites they’d met with the previous evening arrived on the outskirts of Rhinegaff. The others walked ahead while they walked together at the rear.

“Do you blame me? I can barely shut my legs, I’m so cock sore!” She whispered in reply, making him snort with laughter as he grabbed her hand.  

“I’d apologise, but you loved every moment,” he told her, kissing her fingers before letting her hand go again. He wasn’t really much for public displays of affection, but sometimes little gestures such as those couldn’t be helped. He was becoming more enamoured with her as the days passed by.  

“I did. You utter violator.” He looked smugly proud of being called such, as she knew he would. She’d had to wear her hair down that day in order to cover the bite marks all over the back of her neck, something he enjoyed branding her with when his arousal spiralled beyond him being able to control such.  

Arelle put all thoughts of her enviably hot sex life aside as they entered the gates of the royal city, the streets all busy with the hustle and bustle of life in the capital. It been many years since she’d travelled there and a first visit for Geralt, who’d never been this far north before. His eyes were everywhere as he took it all in, marvelling at what a beautiful city it was.  

They made wonderful use of space, he noted, seeing so many small treehouse homes dotted around the huge evergreen trees as they walked through throngs of people going about their daily routines, two large horses dragging a plough ahead. People sold their wares on carts, women doing a roaring trade in blankets and winter clothes and men selling the catches of the day from their ice fishing endeavours.  

“Curse it, I should have brought some of my creations. I could have earned,” Arelle fumed when she took in the market sellers, forgetting that very little put people off in the far north and thusly the markets ran all year around.  

“Next time.” Geralt told her, his hand finding hers again but this time not letting go. Arelle was greatly surprised by such an action, her big, usually quite surly man openly showing his affection for her in such a way. Was he hers now though?  

They hadn’t confirmed such, nor talked about what was growing between them since their conversation back at her home. Was this a relationship? Whatever it was, it was attracting attention. She noticed him taking in the stares, the whispers audible to them both.  

“I perhaps should have mentioned that whereas my people have no issues with witchers, us being involved with anyone non-fae is still a pretty big taboo,” she explained, unsure if he’d ever heard such.

“That explains the looks of disgust,” he commented, not particularly caring.  

“Let them look. It’s mostly older folk who can’t reconcile the notion that we may be attracted to those outside of our kind. Younger fae find such curious, but not anything worth being impudent about.” She directed her last words louder and towards a woman who had just called her immoral, staring at her defiantly.  

“We fuck, get over it,” Geralt added in his usual dry baritone, finding it entertaining when she looked quite aghast.  

“Are you horrifying people back there, Geralt?” Davrin called over his shoulder.

“Apparently,” he confirmed.

“Ah, good man.” He and a few of his friends turned and laughed, Arelle smiling up at him too.  

“Behave.” She warned, Geralt doing the exact opposite and stopping to kiss her. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but make room for a little provocation.  

On they continued until they reached the grounds of queen Kesrin’s palace, a huge, towering structure carved into the very rocks of a mountain, two gigantic waterfalls either side which cut impressive figures, currently being frozen.  

“Look at the guard presence all around. If that isn’t a pre-emptive safeguard over the fact she’s going to declare the Kingdom to be at war, I don’t know what is,” Geralt commented, the further toward the palace they got. Guards in full military regalia stood statue like lining the route, Arelle looking around to see many of the queen’s archers taking vantage points up on the rocks too. Kesrin was expecting an uproar.  

“To which she’s terrified someone will quite rightfully stand up and lay the blame at her door over. She shouldn’t have been such a pushover and I’m not the only person to think so. She’s expecting a riot that will likely happen.” She agreed, very quietly so only he could hear her. Saying such openly around an overwhelming number of armed guards would be the height of careless stupidity.

Once they reached the great hall, they found the entire huge room rammed to capacity, standing in the back corner, the guards letting through another fifty people before the rest were sadly turned away. There within were huge groups of not only sprites, but elves, pixies and fairies too, the latter courteously making room for the rest by hovering in the air.  

The chatter all around died down as the mages all walked forward and took their places behind and to the sides of Kesrin’s throne, the queen then following and taking her seat, her subjects bowing before her. This made Geralt feel like even more of a giant than he already did, since he wasn’t about to bow to a queen who was not his. Geralt of Rivia bowed to no one. His fealty was to himself.  

“People of the Grey Mountains, welcome,” Kesrin began, standing from her throne and walking forward to be closer to her people. At nearing the masses, her guards standing between her elevated position and the people below stood a little extra alert though. “I only wish I was inviting you to my palace under happier circumstances.”  

“And now for the crowd-pleasing drivel penned by one of her advisors.” Geralt whispered, Arelle nodding in agreement. However, what was to follow surprised them both greatly.  

“You are of course all very aware of the increased monster activity within Rhinegaff and the north on a whole. There have been many whispers exchanged over the cause and ultimately who the perpetrator behind their presence actually is. With the invaluable assistance of my mages, I have been able to procure this information. Alas, it is Mardryk.”

Gasps and other noises of concern rippled the assembled crowd, most looking like they’d already guessed as much though. “His attempted return to the Continent is the fault of one person and one person alone. I of course, am that person. At ignoring the advice of just about everyone, from my advisors to the other rulers of the various Kingdoms, I made the wrong decision.  

“The mistake was mine alone, but the fight to prevent Mardryk returning to these shores must be a united effort. Alas we are not alone in coming under attack from his forces, for I am told as of two days past, Vulc have been sighted in the south, with Ebbing, Nilfgaard and Cintra all reporting incidents.”  

“Wow, I certainly wasn’t expecting such an admission of fault,” Arelle said, looking up to Geralt. He cast his eyes down briefly to acknowledge he’d heard her before listening to the queen continue. She spoke of alliances with the Kingdoms who were also under attack (they likely still hated her, he deduced, but of course needed the fae mages) her pledge to send twenty thousand Grey Mountain fighters south (the least she could fucking do) while fortifying a strong hold in the north by warding the perimeters against portal activity.  

If only the same could be applied to the rest of the Continent. Warding was tricky though, even over a relatively small region as the Grey Mountains. It took time, time no one had if Vulc were beginning to invade in three other areas.  

The fluff no doubt penned by an advisor followed at the end, Geralt turning his attentions to discreetly stroking the area on Arelle’s back that he knew full well made her shiver with desire after gleaning everything of use information wise from the queen’s speech.  

“Stop amusing yourself.” She warned in whisper, continuing to listen. She learned that a first wave would be sent immediately, followed by a second in just over a month. These waves were decided by age, Arelle falling into the category of fighters who would leave six weeks from then. At least she had a little normalcy left before her life was turned upside down.  

“Will you leave when I do, in a month?” she asked after they’d left the meeting.

“Most likely.” He confirmed. He seemed to drop into deep thought at that point, Arelle knowing he was prone to bouts of such and thinking absolutely nothing of it. She remained her usual calm, strong self at his side, not disturbing him unless it was really necessary.  

If she was honest, some quiet reflection of what she’d learned was exactly what she needed too. To be told she was about to go to war was a daunting piece of information to digest, especially when she’d never fought in a battle before.  

The scary future was something she found herself discussing with Daida later that night, back at the inn they’d stayed at the previous night.  

“She knows it’s her fault, but still she had to be pushed by her advisors into admitting her guilt. They told her it would make for eased public relations in the face of impending war. Actually, there’s nothing impending about it. It’s here, it’s now. We’re at war. It’ll be our first battle, my friend,” Daida told her, sipping her wine. She had a confidence about her ability to cope that Arelle hadn’t managed to grasp yet. Truly, she was terrified.  

“A prospect I’m not relishing in the slightest. Yes I want to defend my home, but after being told about the Vulc I am terrified of having to face them in open combat,” she confessed, Daida nodding sympathetically.  

“Who told you, your man friend?” Arelle nodded. “So tell me about you both, have you been with one another for long?” she then questioned with a smile.  

“I met him around three months ago. Originally he was just staying with me until the thaw, but it’s turned into something different. I think we’re still in a transition period, but it’s lovely. He’s strong, quiet and unfussy, exactly my type of man,” she confided, Daida smiling excitedly.  

“I’m very happy for you! He seems a little stand offish, but if he makes you happy then all is good. So, just between us girls…how does he measure up?” Arelle nearly choked on her beer, being asked that. Ahhhh, Daida might have looked so prim and proper, but underneath she was scandalous.

“You see that chair leg over yonder?” Arelle began, nodding in the direction of the chair held up by that particular long, thick piece of wood. Her friend couldn’t answer for the fit of giggles she burst into to begin with, clapping with mirth as she rested her head on her shoulder.  

“Oh my goodness! No wonder you’ve been walking bow legged recently.” At this point it was Arelle’s turn to laugh hysterically, nodding in agreement.

“It’s true, it’s absolutely true, Daida,” she began, taking another sip of her beer. “I’ve never been with any other man like him though. The effect he has upon me is so potently profound. One look and I feel aroused. Just one look and you could drown a small woodland animal in my undergarments!” This piece of information really made Daida howl laughing, hugging her friend and kissing her head.

“I miss this, being young and silly with someone, I honestly do. We have to be so proper all of the time within the palace, and we aren’t allowed gentleman callers either. He isn’t my type at all, but when you go to bed with that man tonight, fuck him a bit for me too.” Their hysterical laughter continued as they enjoyed each other’s company again after so long, having a wonderful evening until the blare of warning horns being blown outside cut through the cheery atmosphere.  

“Here, let’s go.” A suddenly present Geralt told her, handing over her bow and quiver before drinking from a small vial and then heading out the door. This was the nature of life now, she supposed. Laughter one minute and running to defend yourself and your homeland the next.  

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia fanfiction #geralt of rivia fanfic #geralt of rivia fic #geralt of rivia smut #geralt of rivia stories #geralt of rivia story #geralt of rivia fluff #geralt #geralt fanfic #geralt fanfiction #geralt fluff #geralt fic #geralt smut #geralt stories #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #the witcher netflix #the witcher fanfic #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fic #henry cavill smut

[pangtasias-atelier]

Not Gone To Waste

Really wanted to focus on older games while requests are closed , cause while I enjoy the newer games, I vastly prefer the older games in the series. So expect more stuff from them.

So here is Magvel! Specifically, Cormag and Artur. I absolutely love the two but never shipped them before cause I mostly played sacred stones when I thought I was straight. So it wasn't until recently when I replayed a bunch of the older games and most of my ships swapped around to gay ones lmao

They're both such good characters and their support is pretty cute too at the end of their a support. My sacred stones playthroughs are either, Mages only or Grado only, so they're mostly always used.

This came out longer than I expected but there's not a bunch of WG related stuff I feel? Kinda wanted more cutesy stuff with them.

Also, this was inspired by a post by @chubbyheroesworthyheroes about Cormag being an angry/stress eater and I ate that shit up, cause it's a great idea.

Also, titles are still hard

________

Heavy breakfast finished, an increasingly common occurrence, Artur checks the calendar once again to indeed make sure that it's been a week. Correct, Artur prepares the large stable attached to his house. The area clean from disuse and his upkeep, he replenishes it with food and water. A little tummy adorning his body, the bit of flab slightly pressing up against his shirt, Artur blushes as he feels the newly added weight jiggle. His face is ever so slightly rounded out.

Picking up and reorganizing the tools, Artur's familiarity with the task aids him in completing it reasonably quick. Proud of his work, he checks over it. Everything neat and tidy, Artur closes the stable as he heads back inside.

The house is somewhat full of decoration, the decor souvenirs from his and Cormag's travels or gifts to one another. Everything tidied up, an important part of Artur's routine, he proceeds to another important part of his routine, cooking. Such a fine day soon turning to noon, the day calls for an equally fine spread. Gazing upon the clean area, he decides to go a bit simpler, not wishing to dirty such a spotless kitchen with his admittedly somewhat messy husband returning today.

Pulling loaves of bread out, deciding in a picnic with the day's sun softly illuminating the world as the gentle breeze sways everything in its path, Artur prepares the rest of the ingredients.

A multitude of vegetables spread out, he slowly chops them, the fear of accidentally cutting himself forever present in the back of his mind. With that done and everything already at the ready, he begins making the sandwiches.

Not wishing to waste any ingredients, he finds a bunch of sandwiches staring back at him when he finishes. The amount relatively split, the right containing much more vegetables to his taste, the ones on the left are more meat heavy, his husband's preference. Washing his hands, he places a hand to his face as he rests his elbow it on his other crossed arm. Sighing, he takes out the picnic basket. Placing half inside, he shuts the lid. Testing the heft of the basket, he packs the other half. Just in case for later he tells himself. Beverages prepared and placed nearly, Artur has everything ready. The only thing now to wait for is Cormag.

Who seems to come right on time, Genarog's piercing screech frightening him still to this day despite their years together.

Saving the almost dropped plate, his initial terror leaves him. Basket in hand, he carries in front of him with both hands. Smiling, he heads out to receive Cormag, Cormag busy with work this entire past week.

Cormag busy ever since the war finished, the looming threat of Grado's earthquake hung heavy when Knoll warned him. Deciding to stay and help Grado, Cormag's experience as a knight and expertise in flying was invaluable. Artur had wished to follow him but Cormag had shot that idea down, wishing for him to remain safe. Though Knoll and Natasha gladly accepted his aid with such expertise in the healing arts, Artur tagging along regardless. Duessel had nearly yelled at Cormag for trying to prohibit Artur, his exorcising light magic invaluable.

The two already close, it had been Artur who proposed, Amelia managing to implant the idea in him despite his trepid nature. Cormag had coughed and laughed at first. Artur's fears realized, Cormag profusely apologized before pulling out a ring from Genarog's satchel, the two falling for Amelia's plan. The two deciding to remain engaged until the situation ameliorated, it was a huge sigh of relief to them and their companions when they did. Lute had throttled Artur the day of the wedding for only telling her of his engagement through a letter instead of in person. Though she promptly rushed him away to help him prepare, blocking Cormag from seeing his husband to be before the ceremony. With everything going well, the two had eventually built a cottage a bit of a ways from the capital and settles down. Artur offering his healing arts for any who needed it, Cormag had stepped down as a knight. Branded a traitor, even his commendable work afterwards still left that mark in his name. Despite it all, Cormag had decided to rejoin, this time as a simple soldier.

Stepping out of the house, the increasing size of Genarog as he descends closer widens Artur's smile even further. The wyvern hitting the floor, Artur slows down his pace to avoid running like a fool. Placing the heavy basket on the floor, Artur breaks into a jog regardless. Cormag jumping off, he opens his arms wide to receive Artur.

Except Artur rushes past him, first greeting Genarog. Neck leaning down, Genarog happily receives Artur's affection.

"I hope Cormag has been treating you well," Artur teases, scritching the underside of Genarog's chin.

"You should worry about how you're treating me," Jokingly frowning, Cormag tugs at Artur, pulling him into an embrace. "Don't tell me you married me just to get closer to Genarog?" Cormag leans down, arms wrapped around Artur as he rests his chin on Artur's shoulder.

"No, of course not! I-" Cormag's snort stops Artur. Artur sighs, barely slapping Cormag's back his arms pinned to his side with Cormag's bearlike embrace.

His embrace accurately describe Cormag's appearance as well. A fact that Artur discovered early on about Cormag is that he eats. An issue bugging him, Cormag seems to lose all inhibition and stuff himself in his blind rage or in his stress induced hunger. Cormag an emotional passionate man, reaching said two states is very easy. Artur accustomed to it, snacks and food are always in arms reach for him to hand Cormag. To his embarrassment, he enjoys the way Cormag fills out his clothes as evidence of his binges pile up. And the physical evidence is evident on Cormag's body.

A full on gut struggling against the tucked in maroon shirt, the tan mass is hidden but not forgotten. The soft warm ball of fat Artur's favorite to rub after Cormag's angry binges. The sleeves pinch his arms, a dip in them where the fabric ends. His stomach and moobs push against the tight shirt as if builders moving marble, the fabric straining and clinging to Cormag's body, each curve, each roll, each pound desperate to escape the suffocating confines of his shirt. His pants suffer the same. Thighs wide apart with each tree trunk thigh pressed up against each other, his ass bulges from the back, both square with the large accumulation of fat. Cormag hefty and fat, obesity coming closer, Cormag's binging even has an effect on Artur, Artur now has a potbelly stomach. Yet he's still small compared to his husband.

Sinking into Cormag's embrace, Artur relaxes before remembering. "I made lunch," Cormag perks up at the prospect of food, even letting go. Spotting the basket, he jogs to it, Artur blushing as Cormag's love handles toss and turn. His also ass shakes behind him, the pants slowly hitching down.

Cormag lifts the basket with one arm, grinning. "Where to?" Lifting his feet hand to whistle, Artur stops him.

"We can eat by the stream, better to eat close to home. Genarog can rest," Artur grabs Cormag's hand, the two walking hand in hand.

The walk short, Cormag's longer strides has Artur struggling to keep up, Cormag enthusiastic to eat. The small stream has a gentle flow of water, the tranquil environment conducive to their nice reunion. Picnic blanket spread out by Cormag, Artur begins taking out the sandwiches.

"This…is a lot," Cormag duly notes. Artur turns red, hand covering his mouth.

"I know, I just didn't want it to go to waste and-"

"It's okay, we can save it for dinner or something," Cormag sits down legs wide apart, happily gesturing for Artur to do the same. He does, sitting cross-legged. Cormag immediately goes for the more meaty selection.

"So, how was work?" Artur innocently asks as he reaches for a sandwich himself. A groan coming out of Cormag, Artur looks up.

"It was a waste of time," Blood boiling, Cormag tears into the sandwich as he pauses. "Duessel just sent me on a mission for some bandits," The sandwich destroyed in two more bites, Cormag reaches for another as he continues the story.

Staring mouth agape, each fit of anger Cormag has always a shock, Artur saves face, nibbling on his own sandwich. The contents of Cormag's story ends up lost on his, his mind too busy focusing his eyes to watch rather than listen. The way Cormag frowns and bursts with energy as he recalls the story, how it makes him jiggle, his gut shaking as it rests on the floor, embraced on both sides by his thighs, his no longer angular face cherubic in its soft curves and blonde hair, his arms jiggling as he reaches for more sandwiches. The entire sight is common yet enjoyed all the same.

Eyes focusing on Cormag and nodding at occasional moments, Artur continues to nibble at his sandwich. He reaches for a second one, hand searching the blanket as he keeps his eyes on Cormag, his speed of eating still constant. Still a bit peckish, Artur grabs a third one. But even that isn't enough, a fourth one reached for but never found. Looking down, the entire basket is empty.

Focusing back on Cormag, he spots the last two sandwiches, both nearly finished. Cormag carries one in each hand. Still ranting, he alternates between each one, cramming them into his mouth with each bite.

"And I did all that for nothing!" Scoffing with his rant over, Cormag shoves both last bites into his mouth, furiously chewing before swallowing. Sighing, he pats his stomach. "Anyways, what did you do?" Cormag's stomach answers for Artur, the loud gurgling showing its displeasure with so much food crammed in such a short time. Letting out a burp, Cormag groans as he leans back, arms wobbling as they support his sitting mass. Huffing, he closes his eyes. Artur immediately by his side, Cormag glances up at him. "Overdid it again, huh?" A hiccup jostles his overstuffed stomach, the contents like a torrent.

"N-no…" Artur fumbles, always red at the exhausted state of Cormag. Shaking his head, he leans down for a kiss before helping Cormag up. Nearly faltering under the heavier mass, Artur manages to get him up. Ignoring the basket and blanket, he trudges along with a groaning Cormag. Cormag's stomach complains all the while, one hand attempting to soothe the angry beast.

Opening the door, Artur leads Cormag to their bedroom. Gently helping him down, Cormag sighs as his ass rests against the bed. Artur's hands gently rest on his gut. Lifting up his shirt, Cormag holds back his smirk as Artur helps him remove it. Gut free, the tan bulging mound bubbles from its free form. Pants unbuttoned helps calm it further. Artur gets straight to work, rubbing Cormag's taut stomach.

"Damn," Eyes closed, his teeth bite his quivering lips. "Keep it up," He sighs, head dipped back. He lets out a small chuckle as Artur stutters, a protest in the back of his throat. Stomach, relaxing, Cormag grabs Artur under his arms, lifting him up with ease. Leaning back, Cormag had Artur lie on top of him.

"C-Cormag!"

"It's fine," Cormag groans, his stomach disagreeing with his statement. "Besides, you like this," No question offered, the statement thrown out instead, Artur incessantly babbles, mind not forming any coherent thought with the flash of words wanting to come out.

"Can't say I mind it though. I eat like a wyvern when I'm pissed. Can't help it," Artur above him as he rests on his gut, Cormag runs his hands through his hair. "You couldn't help yourself either. You always had food for my tantrums,"

"Sorry…. I-" Cormag's hands pushing his head down, their lips crash.

"You've got nothing to be sorry about. By the time I realized what you were doing, I was already pretty down with this extra weight," Artur nods his head, subconsciously licking his dry lips, his throat parched as well.

"And?"

"And. I'm okay with it," Lifting himself and Artur out of bed, Cormag leans down, mouth by Artur's ear as his hand digs under Artur's shirt. "And I'm okay with this," Grabbing the bit of extra flab on Artur's stomach, Cormag holds him steady, Artur melting in the embrace, his face positively flushed as his eyes remain wide.

Muscles hidden but not gone, Cormag lifts Artur in his arms bridal style, the pose reminiscent of their wedding day, only both of them are plumper, Cormag much more so.

"So, why don't we see what else we don't want to go to waste?" Cormag asks as he carries Artur, the kitchen their destination.

Artur meekly nods, mouth dry as he wonders how far this'll go, too shy to stop. Cormag wonders the same, too prideful to stop.

#my writing #fat emblem #ssbhm #male weight gain #male wg #fat!cormag #fat!artur

[cchellacat]

I’m Speechless

Wintershock: Bucky/Darcy

Fluff for  @cametobuyplums 2000 Plums Writing Challenge.

Prompt: Je suis sans voix : I’m speechless

Nearly everyone had them, words scrawled somewhere on their bodies, the first words your soulmate would say to you. Bucky had spent his first life unmarked, something most people considered unlucky, he’d known when he left for war he probably wouldn’t come back, after all, there was no one waiting to hear his words and no one for him to say any to.

Those first weeks free of hydra had bee a blur, but one moment stood out, stepping out a of hot shower and clearing the steam from the mirror he’d seen them, the edges of words curling around his shoulder.  Angling in the reflection, he’d felt confused at first, not understanding where they came from, what they were, but then the knowledge rushed back in.  Soul-words. Words that meant somewhere out in the world there was a girl waiting for him.  It’s why he decided to head to Europe, that and the chance to chase down leads on Hydra, try to understand better what they’d done to him.  He’d found the record buried in a bunker in Germany. August 15th 1989, they’d discovered the words when they took him out of cryo.  After that they’d moved him to an American base.  

By the time he’d ended up in Wakanda, his mind restored, he’d felt a little more hopeful about the words, the tantalising promise of a future seemingly in his grasp.  He’d never even had the chance to tell Steve about them, to share what they were, he knew he’d have got a kick outta the suggestive invitation tattooed on his skin in French.

Then Thanos came and war. The aftermath of the destruction the Titan wrought across the world was massive, but the survivors, victorious.  Peter Quill had luckily been close enough to Stark to grab the man’s hand as the power of the stones flowed through him, shouting for others to do the same.  A line of the world’s heroes holding each other, linked in an unbreakable chain before Thanos, channeling all that power as Stark wielded the glove and defeated him, turning him and his armies to dust.  

When Steve had come to him, told him what he’d planned to do, he knew that if he told him then, his friend would have stayed, wanting to make sure he met his soulmate, wasted time he should be spending with Peggy.  So, he’d done the right thing, told Steve it was time for him to go back to his girl, live the life he’d been meant to have.  

Steve was staying with Stark now, life at the cabin was good for him, a good retirement and friends to visit and catch up with.  The place is peaceful, tranquil.  It’s why Bucky’s frowning so hard when he gets out of the truck.  The sound of dance music is blaring loudly from the cabin. It’s meant to be a nice relaxing quiet Fourth of July, instead the area by the water is bustling with people, setting up tables between shouting and laughing.  He can see the kid, Parker, chasing after a girl with curly hair. Morgan and Nathaniel, Cooper and Lila ducking about between the adults, playing some sorta game with water pistols and no one seeming at all concerned with the rising noise.  He spots Steve, dozing on the porch, and takes determined steps inside the house to find the source of the music.  He’s working himself up, ready to face Stark whom he’s certain must be behind it, but stops short when he reaches the kitchen.  There’s a girl there, wearing shorts he’s sure should be illegal, hair swept up on her head and bandana tied around it. She’s singing at the top of her lungs, a mixing bowl in one arm and conducting some invisible orchestra with a spatula in her right hand.  She’s gorgeous, looks like a pin up girl with her shirt tied under her curvaceous bust, her lips full and red, bright blue eyes flashing with merriment.  When she spots him, she flashes a sunny smile before dancing over, looking him straight in the eye and singing the words he’s branded with, to him.

“Voulez vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?”

He stands frozen in shock, not at the question, but at the reality.  He gapes like an idiot, mouth opening and closing in shock.  

“Hi!  I’m Darcy.”  She waves at him with the spatula, beginning to look concerned.  “Hey, old timer, it’s just a song, what’s got your panties in a bunch?”  He’s still unable to answer and she tells Friday to turn off the music, muttering that she’s gonna get Steve and he panics, reaching for her arm and finally croaks out a response.

“Je suis sans voix!”   it takes him a moment to realise he’s replied in French, but it seems he doesn’t need to translate, she looks as shocked as he felt.  Her mouth making a pretty oh of surprise and the bowl in her arm drops to the tile with a clatter.  For a blissful second there’s silence before she gets her voice working and starts chattering nineteen to the dozen.  

“You’re speechless? Fuck me my dude, how the hell do you think I feel?  Oh my god, Janie is not going to believe this!  And Steve!  Oh he is going to love this, do you know he talks about you all the time?  Like, the guy never shuts up about you, I feel like I know you with all the stories he’s told me and he kept insisting I’d like you no matter how any times I told him I still had a mark and….  Hey, hey, earth to Barnes!  Keep up soldier, we gotta go tell everyone!”

“Jesus Christ Doll, you got a mouth on you!”

“Ha!  Took you long enough. I thought I’d scared you permanently mute.”

“Something tells me that wouldn’t have been a problem the way you can talk for two.”  He tells her with a cheeky smile.

“I thought you were meant to be the smooth one Barnes.”    She parries back sharply, eyes twinkling.

“S’not like I have to be anymore though, is it?”

“Oh!  Implying you won’t need it with me?”  she arches a brow, placing one had on her hip and he’s brought up short again as he notices how long her legs look in the tiny shorts.

“Now, Doll, I didn’t mean it like that…  Just meant the days of me trying to charm a pretty dame are over.  Why would I need to, when the prettiest gal I ever met is my soulmate?”

“Aha, now that was smooth. A + right there.”

He steps closer and finds that, although she’s larger in life in personality, she’s a tiny little thing physically.  She barely comes up to his shoulder in her bare feet.  Even with the height difference, she manages to look down her nose a little at him before stepping into his space and tugging down her top so he can see the words he’d said to her in neat copperplate, scrawled over her collar bone.  It’s unmistakably his own hand.  When he reaches out to touch it, she allows it with a small smile.  Her skin is silky sooth under his touch, and she shivers as he traces the words, finally a little speechless herself.

“I don’t think we were properly introduced earlier,” he states, pulling her top back into place. “I’m James Barnes, but my friends call me Bucky.”

“Darcy Lewis, no fancy nickname”

“I really glad to finally meet you Darcy.”

He takes her hand in his, squeezing it gently, when she mirrors the gesture, it’s like something clicking into place.

“So, “  she asks after a moment, “who do you want to tell first. You’re best friend, or my Father?”

“You’re dad’s here?”

“Sure he is, Friday, where’s dad?”

“Boss is currently in the workshop Miss Lewis, would you like me to ask him to come up?”

Darcy almost agrees but then notices her shiny new soulmate is doing his best impression of a goldfish again.

“Speechless, huh?  I think I could get used to this…”  Darcy quips.  

Bucky’ d froze again and wonders if everything she says to him from now on will end in his stunned silence, but he clears the thought from his mind and shakes his head.  

“Any chance we could skip both and go straight to your first suggestion doll?”

The loud whoop of laughter that echoes through the cabin startles Steve awake on the porch.

Looking through the window he sees his best friend smiling, really smiling, the way he had before the war and Steve knows from the way he holds Darcy’s hand, his great granddaughter’s hand, that everything had worked out just fine. 

#wintershock #2000 plums writing challenge #bucky/darcy #2000plumswritingchallenge #my fic

[pikapeppa]

The Love That Grows From Violence: a new WIP

Dedicated to the delightful @whatomen, who gave me the spark of a fic idea for a pairing that I have been REALLYYY wanting to write. (@faerieavalon, you might be interested... NO PRESSURE THOUGH. 😘)

This drabble is based on the following idea: that killing a somniari in the Fade renders them Tranquil in the real world. 

Featuring the lovely Cassandra, and YET ANOTHER NEW Inquisitor Lavellan: Tamaris, a raven-haired mage who is Tired Of This Shit™, snarky, and bitter about Solas leaving her without saying goodbye.

~600 words for @dadrunkwriting Friday. 

***************

Cassandra critically inspected the set-up of the room. Everything seemed to be in order.

Tamaris had set wards and lit a Veilfire torch to facilitate the crossing of a spirit that was compatible with the Tranquil’s placid mind. Cole was hovering somewhere nearby, ready to swoop in and help before the Tranquil could descend into a dangerous and overwhelming spiral of emotions. Ser Barris was standing at the ready as well, in the dire – and as yet unneeded – case that Cole’s comforting should fail.

Everything was ready to reverse the Rite of Tranquility. Satisfied, Cassandra turned and gestured to Tamaris, who was standing outside the door with a Tranquil by her side. “Come in,” she called.

Tamaris tossed her a sarcastic salute as she and the Tranquil approached. Cassandra smiled faintly at Tamaris, then nodded politely to the Tranquil, whose gaze was lowered in a deferential manner. He was a tall man wearing breeches and the sort of foot wraps that Solas used to wear, and his face was mostly obscured by a hooded cloak that appeared to be of Dalish make. 

Cassandra frowned. That is strange, she thought. This was the first Dalish Tranquil she’d ever met. 

She glanced at Tamaris. “I did not realize that the Dalish made their mages Tranquil.”

Tamaris opened her mouth to reply, but the Tranquil replied in her stead. “I am not Dalish.” 

Cassandra and looked at him in surprise. Despite his oversized hood, Cassandra could swear she saw Dalish tattoos on his cheeks. But then again, the elves at the Temple of Mythal had tattoos on their faces as well, and they were not Dalish.

“Remove your hood, please,” she said.

Without lifting his eyes, the Tranquil pushed his hood back, and Cassandra’s confusion deepened. His long black hair was pulled back into a neat bun at the nape of his neck, revealing a forehead and cheekbones adorned with a branching pattern of ink that was distinctly elven. 

What truly perplexed her, however, was the lack of a lyrium brand on his forehead. 

Cassandra looked at Tamaris in alarm. “Are we certain he is Tranquil? There is no mark.”

Tamaris shrugged wearily. “Well, I’m sure. I can’t feel any magic around him, can you?” She scratched her chin and eyed the man curiously. “He is a weird one, though. I’ve never seen a Tranquil who didn’t have that fucked-up sunburst scar on their face.”

Cassandra grunted at Tamaris’s customary bluntness, then turned to the Tranquil and launched into the speech she had prepared for these occasions. “We would like to reverse the Rite of Tranquility that severed you from your abilities and your emotions. Unfortunately, this may mean that you will become dangerous and lose control of your magic. If that should happen, we may need to sedate you. If the danger is too great, our Templar colleague may need to strike you down. Do you understand these risks?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Do you agree to the reversal of Tranquility, despite these risks?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said again.

Cassandra nodded as well, then realized that she had forgotten something. She’d been so preoccupied with this elven Tranquil’s peculiarities that she’d forgotten to introduce herself.

“Forgive me,” she said. “I should have said before: I am Cassandra Pentaghast. What is your name?”

He finally lifted his eyes to her face, and Cassandra’s own eyes widened in surprise. The Tranquil’s irises were a bright and unusual violet hue.

“My name is Felassan,” he said. “In the old tongue, it means ‘Slow Arrow’.” He tilted his head. “I thought it was funny, once. I don’t know why.”

#felassan #cassandra pentaghast #felassan/lavellan #felassan x lavellan #I WAS CONSIDERING FELASSAN/CASSANDRA #but the angst potential with lavellan is too good to pass up #pikapeppa writes #dadrunkwriting